


Walk All Over Me

by kaebee



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Real World, Anal Sex, Canon Trans Character, Friends to Lovers, Genderfluid Character, I can't believe there's no business partners to lovers tag, M/M, Mutual Pining, Sexual Content, Taako is a drag star but also genderfluid
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-05
Updated: 2019-01-17
Packaged: 2019-05-02 11:18:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 31,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14543577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaebee/pseuds/kaebee
Summary: Kravitz holds his face in his hands and releases a long groan.“Aw, come on, it ain't all that bad,” Ren consoles from the other side of the bar.“She left me with a shoe factory.” Kravitz drops his hands to the bartop to look up at her, nearly knocking over his empty cocktail glass in the process. “A tiny, failing shoe factory. What am I supposed to do with that?”--Kravitz has found himself the proprietor of a local shoe manufacturer. Taako is a drag star. They make a business deal.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Who wouldn't want a Kinky Boots AU?? I won't say this is the WORST thing I've ever written, bc I'm trying to be prouder of my shit, but it's definitely the most niche and ultra-specific thing I've ever written.

Kravitz holds his face in his hands and releases a long groan.

“Aw, come on, it ain't all that bad,” Ren consoles from the other side of the bar.

“She left me with a shoe factory.” Kravitz drops his hands to the bartop to look up at her, nearly knocking over his empty wine glass in the process. “A tiny, _failing_ shoe factory. What am I supposed to do with that?”

Ren shrugs, taking his glass and tucking it into her bus bin out of sight. “Sometimes you just have to make the best of what you got. It can’t be doing that badly, she wouldn’t leave you with a money pit.”

Kravitz sighs and motions for another drink. It was just like Raven to decide to retire a few years early, leaving him with her family’s business and then with a wave and a wink taking off for some tropical cruise. “I don’t know. I”m pretty sure it’s just a ploy to keep me from moving back to London.”

“London _is_ quite the jump. How long’s it even been since you were there?”

That's hardly the point. The _point_ is that he’d been ready to escape this world of leather and glue and heels for something that _mattered_. His face must betray that he's dissatisfied with the response, because she smiles in sympathy and puts a drink in front of him, patting his hand as she does. “Now, don't be so glum. I'm sure it'll work out. Maybe you could sell it.”

“Maybe,” Kravitz allows, lifting his glass to his lips, but he already knows he wouldn’t have it in him to do that.

By the time he shuffles out of the pub, Kravitz doesn’t feel especially better, but he does feel just a little tipsy, which is close enough. He tugs the collar of his peacoat up around his neck and balls his hands together in the pockets before setting off toward his apartment. It’s only a fifteen or twenty minute walk, and the exercise will do him some good.

Maybe he could sell the little business, but doing so would hurt Raven more than he could bear. She was the closest thing to family he had, and even if he’d been hoping to pursue a different life back in London, he wouldn’t want to abandon what her parents had built. He had to make her proud, he just didn’t know how to do that with a little ma-and-pa shoe business in a sleepy middle-of-nowhere town.

The trek home cuts through the edges of the Faerun District, a neighborhood that has grown and urbanized in recent years despite the rest of the city’s best efforts to maintain small town charm. As he passes a generic liquor store, he picks up on men's voices and raucous laughter somewhere down the street. He brushes it off as nothing but some harmless drunk losers until a crash and a cry echoes out from the same direction. Then he's running.

Kravitz gets down a block and rounds the corner, and there they are - two men facing off against a woman who brandishes an umbrella like it's some kind of weapon. One of the men holds the side of his head in pain.

There’s shouting, but he doesn't stop to register what they say. He just dashes forward. The uninjured man lunges at the woman, grabbing the umbrella to wrest it from her. She gets a solid hit in with the heel of her hand. Then Kravitz is there, and he tackles the first guy, who had just been about to launch another attack. They both tumble.

The man throws Kravitz's weight off, sending him stumbling back to regain his balance. He gets his footing, but not in time to fend off the fist swinging toward him. Stars explode in his vision when knuckles collides with his jaw, the crack of bone against bone ringing in his ears.

He hits the concrete in a daze. Dimly, he hears more activity and yelling above him. Running footsteps pound against concrete, fading off into the night. A concerned face blots out the streetlights above him. “Shit, dude. You good?”

“'M fine,” Kravitz mumbles, pushing the hovering hands away so he can sit up. Bad idea. The second he's upright, his stomach flips over and the world around him spins. He barely feels himself fall again, another cry rising from somewhere at his side, and then he sinks into sweet darkness.

\--

A low thumping against Kravitz’s skull draws him out of unconsciousness. It pulses painfully in his ears, and after a moment he realizes it’s not just coming from the sore spot on the back of his head; club music thrums from somewhere in another room. He blinks in the low, diffused light.

Then it dawns on him that he is indoors, somewhere unfamiliar. The last thing he remembers is collapsing outside. He grimaces and raises a hand to test the ginger skin beneath his dreads. A sharp pang flashes behind his eyes, and he hisses.

A sudden shuffle of movement somewhere to one side accompanies a cry of “You’re awake!” Kravitz turns toward the noise, though it makes his vision swim in a nauseating way, and finds the person he attempted to rescue. Only they aren’t in a leopard print coat and tight skirt anymore, just a sparkly blouse and leggings that leave very little to the imagination. Heat soaks through Kravitz’s face. What he hadn’t been able to notice before is how goddamn _ethereal_ they are.

“You really bit it back there, dude,” they point out. “How’re you feeling?”

Kravitz, in his defense, is disoriented and probably a little concussed, and maybe still tipsy to boot. Presented with a drop-dead gorgeous individual, he scrambles for how to make up for the compromised and utterly humiliating position he’s in and restore his dignity. Perhaps even make an impression.

As he says, “A bit woozy,” is when his short-circuited brain settles on faking an accent that he grew out of years ago. He pauses, the sound of his own voice foreign to his own ears with such an atrocious accent, and he watches the other person’s face for a reaction. But they don’t seem to take notice, and he’s already started this, so he continues, “Where are we?”

They stand, cocking a hip and outstretching their arms to gesture toward the rest of the room. It looks like some kind of dressing room, a big vanity against one wall, clothes and accessories scattered over every available horizontal surface, heady perfume hanging in the air. “Welcome to the land of Taako, darling.” Their lips curl into a lopsided smile. Kravitz just stares at them. They continue, undeterred, “Aka, the Starblaster best nightclub in town. I couldn’t exactly leave you there on the street. Especially after your dashing heroics to save little ol’ me. This was the closest place I could get you.”

“Well… thanks, I appreciate it.” Kravitz pushes himself upright, more slowly and carefully than he had before. The person -- Taako, Kravitz thinks it’s safe to assume -- hovers closer like he might fall over again. He’s lying on the floor, a plush robe of some kind folded behind his head as a pillow and a blanket thrown over his legs. “I’m Kravitz.”

Taako grins and leans down to get closer, peering at him. “Kravitz, what a pleasure. Even though I definitely could have handled those thugs on my own.”

“With an umbrella?” Kravitz asks wryly. Taako just laughs and straightens up again, spinning around to approach the vanity. Kravitz recognizes the name of the place; he had passed the Starblaster (a name that definitely has a story behind it) before, never learned much beyond it being a nightclub that seems reasonably well off, even if he'd never met anyone who admits to patronizing it.

As Taako begins to preen in front of the mirror, Kravitz thinks he understands why that might be. He's no idiot, he can put two and two together. Even without being in their personal dressing room, Taako’s abundance of personality and glamor is the sort that demands the attention of all those around them. They are a performer down to the bone.

“That umbrella has always served me damn well, thank you very much.” Taako hikes a skirt, one that swishes above his knees, up around their legs and loosens their hair from its braid. “You think you can stand, my man?”

Kravitz gives it a try, steadying himself against the wall as he rises. His head still aches and he’s vaguely nauseous, but his legs hold beneath him. Taako grins and gives him a thumbs up. “Tight. Give me a second and I’ll show you the way out.” They grab a pair of boots nearby, gold leather high heels that slide all the way up to their knees when they tug one on.

“Do you perform in those?” Kravitz balks.

Taako frowns and eyes him. “Is that a problem?"

Kravitz picks up the second boot before Taako can put it on and examines the sole. “It just… doesn't have much support. They're not very well made.”

“Well, no shit.” Taako snatches the boot back and pushes their foot in. “You think anyone makes _good_ heels for dudes?” Kravitz takes a step back to give him room to stand up. He walks in such poor shoes admirably well, but then again, he's clearly had practice. Taako catches him looking and snorts. “If you wanted to look at my feet, you didn't need to make up a dumb excuse like that, Mr. Boot Expert. Taako don't judge.”

Kravitz flushes hot. “No, no I just… It's the family business, shoes are I mean, I basically grew up learning about shoes.”

Taako laughs at him, merciless, and leads him toward the only door. “Whatever you say, homie. Maybe touch these bad boys up for me then, if you're such hot stuff.”

They enter a short hallway that's lined with a few other doors before cutting a sharp turn to the right. The thump of music is louder out here, more distinguishable as music than just a vibrating beat. “I probably could,” Kravitz answers before he can even think about what he's offering, and Taako turns a bright but sly smile up at him. They round the corner, where the hall ends in three steps up to a big metal door.

The door opens out in an alleyway, dank but well-lit by lights above the door. Taako veers left, where the alley spills out into the street. The front of the club is on their left as they step out onto the sidewalk. Neon lights flare and pulse to attract the attention of passersby, and a burly man with a black T-shirt and an earpiece leans against the brick wall beside the door. He notices them almost immediately. “Hey!” he yells, even though they're only a few paces away.

“Damn it,” Taako sighs.

The bouncer strides toward them and grins down at Kravitz. “Good to see you up and about.”

“Magnus, Kravitz,” Taako says with a wave of his hand, making the barest effort for introductions. “This guy gets in whenever he wants, got it?”

Magnus gives Taako a fake salute. “Of course.” He offers his hand, and Kravitz shakes it. “Usually I'm kicking dudes out of his dressing room, not carrying them into it.”

Taako scoffs. “That's a fucking lie. I'm a goddamn gentleman, no one gets kicked out prematurely.” He hooks his hand in Kravitz's elbow and gives it a pull, and Kravitz stumbles to follow after him.

“Aren't you on stage in like ten minutes?” Magnus calls after them. Taako waves a hand in the air and keeps going.

“I think I can find my own way from here,” Kravitz says. The club is only a block or two from where he'd attempted to rescue Taako, and from there the way home is familiar.

Taako shrugs, twirling a length of hair around one long finger. “Sure.” He studies Kravitz’s face, head tilted to one side just a little in a way Kravitz thinks would be cute if the intense stare weren't trained on him. “You could really fix my boots?”

The question catches Kravitz off guard. It's posed so sincerely, the soft tone making Kravitz suddenly very aware of how close he's standing, and before he can actually answer his voice is saying, “Of course. Not a problem.” Big problem. Taako seems interesting, not to mention attractive as hell, but Kravitz doesn't have the time or money for a pet project, and just because the way Taako grins fills him with giddy warmth doesn't mean-- “I can come by and pick them up tomorrow.” God damn it.

Taako’s eyebrows rise up toward his hairline. “I mean, sure, if you want. I'll probably be at the club, just give me a holler before you show up.”

“Right.” He reaches into his jacket for his phone, but -- his heart stops. It's gone. Did it fall out when he collapsed? What if those men harassing Taako had taken it?

“Oh. Probably looking for this, huh?” And with a flourish he produces Kravitz's cell from inside his shirt. Kravitz stares at him. “Yeah. Whoops, how'd that happen?” Taako smiles, entirely unrepentant. “So, wanna unlock it for me so I can put my number on it?”

Kravitz opens his mouth, finds he has no words, and taps in his password before handing the phone back. Taako puts himself in as a contact, even snaps a selfie to set as his photo, and then gives it back. Before Kravitz’s mind can even really process what is happening, Taako is already backpedaling toward the club.

As he goes, he makes an exaggerated “call me” gesture with his thumb and pinkie. Kravitz grins and lifts a thumb up to him. He’s still feeling bewildered and overwhelmed, like he was hit by a tidal wave and has now been left standing stunned on the shore. He looks down at the phone in his hand, then up at the retreating form, and finally just turns for home. Maybe he’ll wake up in the morning and realize this was all a dream.

The rest of his way back home is uneventful. A dull headache has set in by the time Kravitz shuts the apartment door behind him and kicks off his shoes. Leaning against the door, he massages his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. Maybe he should see someone about his head.

He loosens his tie and shucks off his jacket on his way to the bedroom. Then off comes his shirt -- wrangling it over his head along with his tie, instead of unbuttoning it -- and his pants as he trudges into the bedroom. He flops over bellyfirst onto the mess of blankets, pushes his boxers down and kicks them off, and succumbs to sleep.

He dreams of devious eyes and long legs hugged by high-heeled leather boots. When he wakes up, his headache is far worse.


	2. Chapter 2

Over a month since Raven left things in his hands, and Kravitz is still growing accustomed to the idea that this is his office. Of course he'd spent plenty of time here in his later childhood years, exploring the mystical world of officework and important papers before Raven would walk with him around the factory floor. The grand business of Innocent Soles Shoes had been a home away from home after he came to the States. But it was never  _ his _ , this was Raven's domain, where he was merely allowed as a guest. Even if he tried to make it his own, he would simply be refining something that would always have her handprints embedded into its being.

The office even looks exactly the same as when it was Raven’s, with an oak desk coated in water stains and leaves of paper, a squat bookcase of binders and folders, and a dust-colored desktop system that has held its station for at least a decade. One wall boasts photographs and yellowed newspaper clippings from the factory’s opening, above a glass case of the first pair of shoes they produced. The only adjustment he's made is to stow away a framed photograph of the two of them she had on her desk; a younger, more bright-eyed version of himself staring at him all day had unnerved him to no end. The fragrance of her rosemary and mint candles still lingers in the air, mingled with the pervasive smell of new leather.

He hunches over in the worn leather chair at the desk, staring at the display of Oxfords with his fingers steepled in front of his face. He's hidden in his office all morning, trying to muster courage. This isn’t such a big deal. He can do this. He  _ owns _ this goddamn place, there’s nothing weird about him wanting to make use of a tool or getting help from his employees.

With a long inhale to set his nerves, he stands, adjusts his tie, and tugs his jacket straight. Self-confidence as sturdy as it’s going to get, Kravitz steps out and shuts the door behind him. The exit takes him into a wide hallway lit with harsh white fluorescents, a stark contrast to the office. He hurries downstairs and onto the factory floor.

Immediately outside the stairwell are three workers trimming and buffing, giving sets of loafers their finishing touches. Kravitz clasps his hands behind his back and lingers, pretending to eye over their work before meandering away toward where a muscular woman stitches soles together. She looks up from her machine as Kravitz approaches, nodding in greeting. “Hey, boss. What can I do you for?”

“Just checking in.” Kravitz scrambles to remember the woman’s name. Something short and simple, to match the casual but imposing figure she cuts. She, a faithful employee of Innocent Soles for nearly five years now, glances up at Kravitz and then goes back to what she was doing. Carol maybe, or Karen. Kristen?

“Actually, while I’m here,” Kravitz begins, interrupting once more. He purses his lips together and leans forward. Kristen smells sharp of shoe polish and rubber, but he ignores it. “I think I need a favor. Can you come into my office for a minute?”

Kristen stares at him just long enough for Kravitz to regret this whole thing, then she shrugs, sets her work in progress down, and gets up. “Yeah, all right.” He sighs with relief.

A dozen stares prickle down the back of Kravitz’s neck as he retreats the way he came, Kristen in tow. He feels even more vulnerable out here, under the gaze of people who need him to be good at this job. He picks up his pace to the safe seclusion of his office.

Once there, Kravitz fishes into the brown paper bag sitting atop his desk and produces a pair of deep green ankle boots. He sets them on the desk, a broken heel on one bending at an awkward angle. He only saw Taako briefly the morning after they met, just long enough to collect the boots and convince himself that the performer and his club are actually real; Taako quickly shooed him away after that, insisting he didn’t have time to sit and chat. He's been stewing over these damn boots ever since.

Kristen, who takes a seat in one of the chairs on the opposite side of the desk, sits forward, her interest caught. “A, uh, friend of mine was hoping I’d be able to fix these. They need a new heel that can support more weight better, and maybe find a little more room inside. It needs to be durable enough for…” Kravitz hesitates over word choice, and settles on, “performing.”

Silence thickens in the cramped office, and Kravitz starts to wonder if he's seriously miscalculated. Then Kristen speaks again, raising her eyebrows as she asks, “Do you have friends at the Starblaster club?”

Kravitz flusters. “Does it matter?”

Kristen shrugs and reaches for the broken boot, examining it, turning it over and over in her hands. “Nah, I just didn't think you had cool friends like that.” She, at the very least, has the decency to look sheepish and add, “No offense.” Kravitz just sighs and waves it off. “Anyway, I don't know about this. We'd have to create something pretty specific, and that's not going to help sizing issues. We might as well make completely new shoes.”

He'd suspected as much, but had hoped someone more intimately experienced with shaping and fitting them would see a way around it. Kravitz massages his temples, trying to ease a headache as it lurches toward the front of his brain. The ache has crouched in the back of his skull since he hit his head, going unnoticed until it chooses to flare up again. “Right. Thank you anyway, Kristen.” He'd bitten off more than he could chew with this favor, and for what? He didn't know Taako, he would never have seen him again if he hadn't done this.

Kristen gives him a sympathetic smile. “Sorry I couldn't help out more. But hey, a bunch of my buddies work over there, they're pretty good people. I'm sure he'll understand.” She slaps Kravitz on the shoulder, making him wince. “Guess I’ll see you around there.”

“I am your boss, you know,” Kravitz points out, rubbing his sore shoulder.

Kristen just grins. “Right. Sure thing, boss.” She returns the boot to its place next to its partner and turns for the door, waving over her shoulder. From the doorway, she stops to look back at him. “Uh, the name’s Killian, by the way.” And then she’s gone.

He stares at the doorway, its emptiness mocking him. “Well, shit,” he sighs to himself, and he collapses backward into his chair. Not only will he have to return to Taako empty-handed, he made a complete ass of himself in the process.

He stows the boots back into the paper bag and tucks it underneath his desk, hoping that out of sight will mean out of mind. Too much is on his plate for him to sit here muddling over their eccentric owner and his stupid impulsive favor anyway, he has to find revenue or cut costs or do something to keep this business in the black.

He calls retailers and store owners first, flipping through Raven’s rolodex of professional contacts she’s made over the years. Most of the numbers are disconnected, three politely refuse his business, and one catches Kravitz in a trap by reminiscing about what a legendary businesswoman his mother was. Kravitz neither corrects him on his relationship with Raven nor broaches the subject of buying the highest quality shoes on the market -- he has an opening after twenty minutes of rambling, and he says good-bye and hangs up before the rich geezer can catch his breath.

As he dials number after number and crosses out card after card, his gaze continually trips back to the little package half-concealed in the shadows of the desk. No matter where in his office he moves, he can sense its presence; a thread coiled around his mind tugs him ever back toward it. After another failed number, he drops his phone to the desk with a clatter and heaves a groan, scrubbing both hands over his face.

With Raven’s legacy in his hands, he’s floundering. He can’t do what she did, he doesn't know how to run her business the way she had. All he's got are his own wits and a drag star’s broken boots. He pulls them out of the bag again and stares at the bent heel. Might as well make new shoes, Killian said.

Kravitz sighs, pinches the bridge of his nose, and fishes his car keys out of his pocket. It's a stupid idea, but he doesn't have any smart ones left.

He makes it to the nightclub in ten minutes, parking against the curb and striding toward the entrance with his hands set into fists. The front door is locked, but he expects as much. Taako still sits atop his most recent contacts in his phone, his name punctuated with a heart emoji the way Taako had entered it. He stares at the string of numbers for a second before steeling his nerves and pressing the call icon. 

“Taako. It's Kravitz,* he says as soon as the call clicks through, “I’m outside the club, I need to talk to you. Do you have a minute?”

Taako hums in thought for a few seconds too long before answering, “I suppose rehearsal can wait a little longer. I  _ am _ already perfect at this routine, anyway.” The muffled sound of clothing rustles in Kravitz's ear, as if he's rifling through one of the many piles that Kravitz knows litter his dressing room. “I’ll be right out, give me two minutes.”

Kravitz waits there for almost eight minutes before Taako emerges, hair meticulously tousled and top hanging off his shoulder in the most deliberate attempt at carelessness Kravitz has ever witnessed. “Got a taste and just couldn't stay away, huh? Do you have my shit?”

Instead of the scathing response that springs to Kravitz’s tongue first, he hands over the paper bag containing the boots and says, “That's what I'm here about. I wasn't able to fix these, but I have another idea. Can we grab lunch and talk?” Taako takes the bag but stares at him funny, and as one second, then two, then three, tick by without an answer, Kravitz shifts his weight nervously. “What?”

“What happened to your accent?” Taako asks, the corner of his lips twitching. 

“My--” Shit. Dammit. Kravitz forgot about that. His neck and ears burn, and Taako’s mouth bursts into a full grin. “I. Look. I hit my head, okay?”

Taako makes an ugly snorting noise as he swallows down laughter with only partial success. “Sure. Okay, yeah. Perfectly normal for hitting your head.” Kravitz begins to wonder if this decision is worth it, but he can't easily back out now. Taako pats his arm. “Come on, British boy, I’m starving.”

Kravitz lets Taako take the lead, as he chatters about a great place he knows just a block or two away. The bistro to which Taako brings him has wrought iron tables and chairs set out on the sidewalk, tucked beneath the shade of green window awnings. Taako immediately makes himself comfortable at one of these outdoor tables, so Kravitz goes along with it and sits across from him.

The metal chairs aren’t especially comfortable, but the sun filters down through a thin veil of clouds and a light breeze spreads the bistro’s aroma of fresh bread and garlic, so he can hardly complain. A waitress comes out for drink orders, sauntering over to them and jotting down their order only after trading a few moments of small talk with Kravitz. She returns shortly to serve Kravitz’s coffee and Taako’s cocktail, then heads off to give them a minute to peruse the menu.

When she’s gone, Kravitz folds his hands on top of the table, and Taako leans forward in turn, matching Kravitz’s assertive stance. "So. How many performers work at your club?”

Taako blinks at him, surprised, but he answers, “Uh, like, ten to fifteen, I think?”

Kravitz nods. “And they all wear women’s shoes?” At Taako’s affirmation, he rubs his stubbled cheek in thought and considers his wording. “This family business I told you about, I’m stuck running it, and I’m going to fail if I don’t try something drastic. But I… I have an idea, and I need your help with it.” He purses his lips, watching Taako intently. “I want to produce a line of durable high heels for men, and I need you to design them for me.”

Taako meets his gaze in silence for a long beat. Then he lifts his cocktail to his lips and downs half of it at once. “Well this is, uh. Not at all what I thought you wanted to talk about.” He sits further back into his chair, easing off a little. “I mean, totally, of course I will. I could design some fucking killer boots. How many designs are we talking?”

Kravitz shrugs; he had been more concerned with whether Taako would be interested in helping him at all. “Let’s just start with a couple and go from there. You’ll be compensated, of course, and you could probably keep the prototypes.” He would need a good variety to appeal to broader tastes, but he couldn’t afford to get extravagant. 

“Oh, I like the sound of that.” Taako pauses as their waitress returns, then resumes after ordering, “I can get that whipped up for you in no time, but I’m going to need something in exchange, you know.” Kravitz frowns; he's already going to pay him and give him spare boots. Taako tilts his head and smiles. "You have to come to the club for a night." He spreads his hands in an exaggerated shrug and gestures with a twist of his wrist as he continues, "It only makes sense, right? That you need to know what you're making your boots for. You gotta feel it,  _ understand _ it. Come watch me perform, I promise it'll be life-changing." He ends his spiel with a wink.

The problem with Kravitz's utter lack of social obligations is that he really doesn't have any good reason to avoid said social obligations. He could make up excuses all he wanted, but to pull off this partnership of sorts, he's going to need to keep Taako appeased. He sighs. "Yeah, okay."

However reluctant, his agreement makes Taako puff up with victory. “Hell yeah. Just don't uh, don't come tonight. We're working on this new routine, see, and the one we're doing now is getting stale. We're bored with it. So I'll let you know a good night. You know, to appreciate my glory to its fullest.”

“Of course.” Kravitz pauses as the waitress serves their meal and leaves them to it. “And… thank you.”

“Hey, no sweat, my man." Taako smirks over his pasta. "I’ll do anything to score some sweetass new boots.” 

Kravitz snorts and lifts his coffee to his lips. “Get that often, in your line of work? People wanting to make you new clothes?”

Taako barks a sharp laugh. “Okay, you're the first, maybe, but it's only a matter of time before they come flocking.”

"Why do you do it, anyway?" Kravitz asks, curiosity getting the better of him.

Sobering, Taako regards him with a thoughtful purse of his lips. Then he shrugs. "My particular skill set isn't exactly translatable, what else am I going to do? Tried to start a restaurant once, that didn't exactly go spectacular, but I'm good at this, performing for people. Like, really fucking good.”

“A restaurant?” Kravitz presses, but Taako pretends not to hear him as he goes on.

“I used to experiment with my sister's new clothes when she started transitioning, too. I'm basically sex on legs no matter what uh, gender I am, so it all just worked out in my favor.” He props one elbow on the table and leans his cheek against his fist. “How 'bout you? Are all the shoemakers hot young studs in fancy suits, or is it just you?" 

Kravitz smiles in spite of himself. Fancy. He adjusts his maroon tie, preening. "Nothing wrong with trying to look one's best."

"Damn straight," Taako says approvingly. The rest of lunch passes easily; Taako makes aimless conversation and gestures with his hands, filling enough space for both of them, so Kravitz only has to provide occasional input, which suits him perfectly fine. Taako starts a story about a high school rival named Brian, but before he's even gotten to his point he gets sidetracked by offering advice about color coordinating outfits, which ends in an explanation of the small house he shares with his sister, the bouncer Kravitz met, and another coworker from the club.

His tangential, stream-of-conscious way of speaking would annoy the hell out of Kravitz, if he didn't find everything Taako has to say so deeply captivating. He straddles a line between open vulnerability and guardedness, teasing Kravitz just often enough that he has to wonder how much Taako tells him is even true. It's like trying to put together a puzzle where all the pieces might not actually fit together into one whole picture after all. 

Once they finish the meal, Kravitz covers the bill and walks back with Taako toward the club and his parked car. Taako makes a little choked noise as he realizes Kravitz's is none other than the sleek black hearse, complete with navy blue curtains lining the back windows. "I got a really good deal on it," Kravitz says with a shrug, cutting off whatever remark he can see forming in Taako's eyes.

"Sure," Taako says instead, smirking, and not knowing what he's thinking is almost worse.

Kravitz proffers his hand for a shake, and Taako grips it. “Bad circulation,” he explains when Taako makes a face. “Thank you again. I guess we'll be seeing each other again soon.”

“No doubt.” Taako doesn't let go right away, and Kravitz doesn't, either. His skin is soft and warm, the small ridge of a barely-there scar on his pinky under Kravitz's ring finger.

Behind them, a metal door slams open, and Kravitz jumps and pulls his hand back. "Taako!" cries one of the two individuals who exit the club. One of them is a heavier set man with big glasses and a white button-up untucked from his jeans, and the other... well, the other is an exact copy of Taako but for a shorter haircut. The two of them hurry over, the other Taako continuing, "Ooh boy, where the hell have you been? Lucretia's going to skin you alive."

The man rubs the back of his neck and looks at Kravitz, while his companion slings an arm around Taako's shoulders. "Uh, hey there. Name's Barry."

"He does the lights, sound system, nerdy shit like that for the club," Taako volunteers, elbowing his clone. "And this is Lup, my sister."

"Howdy." She lifts a hand, fingers curling in a lazy wave.

"I'm Kravitz." He shakes Barry's hand and nods to Lup in turn. "It's a pleasure to meet you both."

Lup straightens up from leaning most of her weight on Taako. "You're the guy that saved my brother the other night?"

"He didn't really  _ do _ anything," Taako starts to protest, but Lup ignores him and steps closer to Kravitz, grabbing his hand. Instead of a handshake as he expects, she tugs him against her with their arms pinned between them and thumps his back with her other hand.

"You ever need anything, just say the word. I owe you big time." She backs up. Kravitz rolls his shoulders; he really wishes people would stop hitting him today. "I'm going to burn those fuckers alive if they come around here again."

"Please stop threatening to burn people," Barry advises from behind her, though from his tone of voice he probably wouldn't lift a finger if she tried.

Kravitz coughs to interject as politely as he can. "I should really get going. I have a lot of details to iron out if we're going to make this work."

Lup looks between him and Taako, curiosity bright in her eyes, but Taako shrugs and whispers something in her ear. She scoffs. "Just get your sorry ass in here soon. See you around, Kravitz." Turning back to the club, she motions for Barry to follow her. Barry gives a shrug and a smile, waves, and tags along a couple paces behind her.

Once the door shuts behind them once more, Taako snorts and waves a hand dismissively. "The losers I put up with. They need to just bang already and get it over with." He turns to Kravitz like he expects support on the matter.

"Didn't really do anything?" Kravitz repeats dryly, raising his eyebrows.

Taako snickers. "You ran in and then blacked out immediately, dude. What else do you call that?" Kravitz grimaces, but he doesn't have a solid argument to make. "Anyway, I'd better scoot. See you later." Despite his own words, he stays and watches from the sidewalk as Kravitz unlocks his car and ducks into the driver's seat. He stands motionless there in Kravitz’s rearview mirror until he shrinks out of sight.

Kravitz drives back to the factory, pulls into his parking space, and stares at the brick face of the building before him. He's lucky that went so well, overall. Taako and his sharp sense of taste will be an invaluable source of help for Kravitz. Even if he's frustrating then fascinating in turns, even if his glittering dark eyes catch far more than he lets on, even if Kravitz could get distracted too easily by his sly grin and his rolling hips...

“Shit,” Kravitz groans to himself, dropping his forehead against the steering wheel. He's definitely in trouble.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't edit this, I'll do it later, forgive me

Taako texts him later that evening to ask about what materials the boots should be made of, and Kravitz is relieved by the confirmation that he's taking the task seriously. The conversation landslides into banter until Taako has to go "shake his cute tush onstage," but the next morning his texts continue, and over the next two days Kravitz grows accustomed to the soft buzz in his pocket alerting him to another complaint about coworkers or incomprehensible string of emojis.

Meanwhile, the factory seethes with chaos, thrown into upheaval as they reallocate resources for a new line of products unlike any of their others. Production likely won't begin for a couple weeks, but they'll need to be organized and ready. Starting a new, unique line is a big risk, and they need to make every preparation, creating space on the factory floor and arranging for who would take on new workloads.

On top of that, Kravitz has to assuage five separate employees displeased with this direction, with varying levels of success. Disheartening as it is, he can't afford to lose manpower now, so he pacifies them as best he can. Following each terse meeting he sits rubbing his temples and re-evaluating for a good ten minutes before he can come to the same conclusions that brought him here in the first place.

Today, at least, Kravitz barely notices the mayhem or the contention. He had put on one of his best suits and his favorite crimson tie, and he had gathered his dreadlocks into a high ponytail to expose the gold loops in his ears. Red eyeshadow dusts his eyelids. Putting himself together that morning had taken an extra hour, and he walks on eggshells to keep himself immaculate throughout the day. He stumbles, distracted, through arguing with his accountant and delegating to Killian, who volunteered to spearhead the project from the factory floor. Her eyebrows shoot toward her hairline when she lays eyes on him for the first time this morning. "Hot date tonight?" she asks.

Kravitz clears his throat and busies his hands by straightening a stack of paperwork on his desk. "Ah, no. I'm meeting the person I'm contracting at the club to go over his design work."

“Oh. Right.” She smiles and nods as she sits in front of his desk, but Kravitz can't help but feel there's something she's not saying. He shakes it off and steers their conversation back to going over their ordering list for new supplies. They’ll need boot lasts for shaping the new products, as well as replenishing their leather, laces, and other materials for their existing products.

They nearly get through the rest of their meeting without incident, until Killian speaks up again after they've finalized their ordering list. "You're not a bad dude," she observes.

Kravitz blinks and looks at her, but when no explanation immediately follows, he blurts, "What?"

She shrugs. "Well, you know, I... we weren't so sure about you, when Raven left. Kinda seemed like you didn't know what you were doing. But you look like you've really hit your stride with this."

"I didn't know what I was doing," Kravitz admits, "I still don't. I just want to make sure this is going to work. It just feels... important, I guess, to be able to solve an actual problem with what we do.” Anyway, flashy fashionable boots catch his interest far more than traditional men’s footwear, but that information he keeps to himself.

"That definitely means something." Killian stands and claps a hand on his shoulder, which doesn't hurt as much as the last time. "We're in this together. The people around here who are worth shit are gonna help you, and you don't need the rest."

“Right. Thanks, Killian.” He straightens his shoulders and sits up. “After I meet Taako tonight, we'll have a more concrete way forward.”

Surprise flashes over her face. “Ta-- your guy at the club is Taako?”

“Yes?” Kravitz eyes her, his brow wrinkling with concern. “Do you know him?”

She draws a breath to answer, hesitates, then finally says, “Kind of. I mean, I don't know him that well, just… Good luck with that, I guess.”

He stares after her as she makes a swift exit, left with just his imagination to figure out what she means. If she's put off by Taako's abundant quirks, her warning comes too late; he's already keenly aware that Taako's nebulous character withholds any number of secrets and surprises that may leap out and bring it all tumbling down any moment.

Fortunately, the rest of the workday holds nothing else of consequence to get in his way. He only has so much in him for either heartfelt conversations or ominous well-wishes with people he barely knows, and he still has to go meet Taako. His reserves of social energy feel preemptively drained as he shrugs into his coat.

The last faded daylight still hangs overhead when Kravitz arrives at the Starblaster, bundled in his coat and gloves despite the mildness of the fall evening. Every year he dreads winter's encroachment and the way it closes in at night first before laying siege to daylight until everything is coated in it. Tonight is one of the nights he can tell it's on its way; a crisp cold taste needles his tongue as he breathes, and his toes ache. At least he'll be indoors soon.

A few people idle in front of the building, a small queue that has formed behind two young men who stand squabbling with Magnus at the door. Kravitz catches the tail end of their insistence that they know Taako before Magnus catches sight of his approach. He turns his attention away from the men to raise a hand and call out in greeting. "Kravitz! How's it going?"

Kravitz waves with slightly less exuberance once he's in regular speaking distance. "Hello, Magnus. I'm well.”

Magnus opens the door and ushers him inside despite the protests of the two other young men. “Enjoy the show,” he says with a wink, which Kravitz doesn't quite know how to interpret, but once he's inside the club he forgets about everything outside it.

His eyes take a moment to adjust to the soft lighting that bathes the interior in a calming subtlety akin to moonlight on a clear night. Dark blue swathes the walls; painted galaxies swirl in purple and black, flecked with white stars. To his left, the bar stretches gleaming and silver from a polished metal countertop. A handful of glow-in-the-dark stars adorn the wall behind the bar -- a rather tacky addition to the otherwise muted and refined decor. A door marked “Employees Only” interrupts the shelves of liquor, and as Kravitz watches it swings open and a young man carrying a serving tray bustles out, providing just a flash of the kitchen beyond. To his right, a set of stairs lead up to a small balcony for more private seating.

The stage is directly opposite the front door, drawing attention no matter where one goes within the club. Heavy velour curtains frame the stage, a runway extending out amongst the sea of tables. A trio of performers strut around the stage and sing a cover of a song Kravitz barely recognizes, blue and white lighting hitting them from bulbs embedded into the floor.

Kravitz perches on a stool at the end of the bar closest to the stage. The bartender makes his way over shortly at a pace that can only really be described as a waddle. "And what're you having?" he asks, his voice rough but his mouth creased with old laugh lines. Kravitz gets a wine list from him, which he peruses before selecting a mid-range red described as subtle and herbal.

He's taking his first sip when the lights dim and a disembodied announcer encourages everyone to welcome their star to the stage. Kravitz had expected a stage name of some kind, but then again, Taako doesn't need a persona or a guise; onstage he is simply an amplified version of himself in real life. Or, maybe, Taako in real life is a mere dilution of Taako on stage, the state in which he - she, rather, for the time being - was always meant to exist, basking in the delight of her audience.

Her performance opens with a sultry musical number, the spotlight rising into a long reveal of a bedazzled Taako sauntering out to the front of the stage. Clutching a microphone in both hands, she tilts her head down demurely and peers out from beneath long eyelashes as she prowls out to the edge of her platform. Rather than bend down to pay the patrons closest to her feet any attention, she smirks down at them and stamps her heel before twirling again and skirting the edge, ending at the base of the runway as the song crescendos and finishes.

“Hell of a lot of cute boys out here tonight,” she notes as her hand falls to her cocked hip. She has a headset curled toward her lips, but evidently, she likes using her microphone as a prop, something to curl her lacquered nails around. “Did I hear a bachelor party out there?” A concentrated series of whoops and hollers burst out from one side of the room. “I knew it. I can always tell.” She thumbs her nose. “Congrats, my man, I guess this will be only the second best night of your life.” Her fingers lifts to painted lips, and she blows a kiss in the direction of the group, then she walks backward to center stage as four scantily clad men appear behind her.

A bouncy, energetic tune bubbles up from the speakers. "I'm not a marriage kind of gal, myself. Just doesn't seem fair to deprive the rest of the world of all this," Taako continues, gesturing to herself with one hand. "Besides, I've got too much other shit going on, you know? Very important _things_ to do.” On the emphasis of the word “things,” she makes a show of leering at one of her backup dancers, to the audience's amusement, and launches into another song, this one about how busy she is with a number of different love affairs.

She doesn't demand attention because she doesn't need to -- denying to give her your whole focus would be akin to refusing to walk on the ground. You can try as much as you please, but in the end, sheer gravity will always win out. Whether she's delivering jokes or grinding on a backup dancer, Taako captures every gaze effortlessly.

Taako's vivacity only builds on top of itself as she goes, never flagging as she brings the number to a close and flows right into a comedy routine, snorting over her own punchlines just often enough to skirt the line between endearing and obnoxious. She moves the entire time, pacing up and down the runway, putting her whole body into gesticulations and pantomimes.

Music lifts back into the room, soft and hazy first then taking shape with a heavy bassline. Her backup dancers shuffle back into the foreground, one of them taking her microphone from her and setting it out of the way. Taako sings only a few verses, this time, before in the midst of her dance tears off her sheer skirt and tosses it off the stage. The beat picks up, and in a skirt that now barely reaches past her hips, she throws herself forward and front flips onto the runway.

She flings her arms out to welcome the resulting cheers. “Would you believe that was my first time trying that?” she says with a laugh as she skips back to the main stage, and no, Kravitz wouldn't believe it, but he will anyway because she asks it of him. The act transforms into an acrobatics routine, the backup dancers lifting and throwing and catching as needed to show off Taako’s gymnastic prowess. Kravitz never expected to see gymnastics incorporated into a drag show, but Taako is nothing if not surprising -- and, evidently, extremely flexible.

By the time Taako finishes her performance, Kravitz’s mouth has never been so dry, despite the three glasses of wine he’s gone through. In a daze, he raises his hands to applaud with the rest. A couple wolf whistles pierce the rumble of applause.

Taako sidles out onto the runway once more, front and center, her microphone once more in hand. “Thank you, thank you. You’ve all been such a pleasure tonight, if only I could be here all night. But listen.” She leans close toward her audience, conspiratorial. “But then you wouldn’t come back, and I wouldn’t get paid.” Soft laughter ripples through the crowd, and Taako straightens up and waves. “So come back soon, darlings. Enjoy the rest of your evening.” She blows a kiss out to the room at large and spins on her heel to sashay backstage, followed by another wave of adoration.

Kravitz swallows the rest of his wine and takes a breath. Business. He's here on business.

He has no time to prepare himself before Taako appears from a door tucked not far from the stage, still done up in bright silver and red sequins and black fishnets, and cranes her neck until she spots Kravitz. Beaming, she pushes past tables and people alike to reach him. “You made it!”

“Of course. I'm eager to get work started on these boots.” He fishes out his wallet to pay for his wine, but Taako pushes his hand down.

"Don't even worry about it, my man. It's on the house.” She winks at him.

The bartender grumbles behind them, "I never agreed to that." Taako shoots him a pointed look over Kravitz's shoulder, then crooks her finger at Kravitz and spins around. The tassels on her hips flash with her every step, and not letting them draw his eye right to her butt takes more willpower than he's ever had to expend. As another act begins on the stage, Kravitz follows her along the outskirts of the room to the door Taako had emerged from.

She descends a wooden staircase and hangs a right into a simple hallway Kravitz recognizes. Taako's name adorns the second door on the left; the words “is the greatest” have been scrawled in permanent marker underneath it. "Make yourself comfy." she says as they enter, waving at the couch pushed against the wall opposite to her vanity - the couch he'd woken up on the night they met.

Kravitz settles on the edge of the cushions, ill at ease in such a private space now that he isn't too disoriented to fully appreciate just how intimate a dressing room is. Taako jams a hand down her corset and digs out her inserts, tossing them onto the vanity table. “Don't look," she warns, so he turns his gaze dutifully down to his hands. Clothing whispers against itself, and Taako sighs as she sheds the extravagant outfit.

When she throws herself down next to him, she wears just a ratty t-shirt and gym shorts. "Check it out." She gives him a handful of pages that look torn from a small journal, each sheet displaying a different drawing of high-heeled shoes in all manner of colors and shapes. While Kravitz looks over them, Taako plucks bobby pins out of her hair; glitter sprinkles down onto the couch cushion and Kravitz's thigh as she does.

“I like these," Kravitz says, "I don't think this one is possible, though. Or, uh, humane. How would we even get a goldfish in there?" He hands the sheet in question back to Taako, who snickers.

"That one was a, uh, a joke, between me and Magnus." She crumples it up and tosses it across the room, nowhere near a trash bin. “But the rest are flawless, am I right?”

Kravitz dusts glitter off his pants. “We can only do a couple for now, remember?” He shows Taako a design of black thigh highs, embellished with a lacy white ribbon up the back. “I think this one is a really good option. It’s simple and versatile, but still unique. We’ll get to work on these.” He shuffles through the remainders, then selects a platform ankle boot in bright pink and a deep green knee-high with a snakeskin pattern scribbled into it, studying them. "This is exactly what I needed. I should pay you for all of these, really.”

Taako clicks her tongue in dismay. “I should’ve gotten that down in writing, damn.”

“We can put a contract together. I mean, not all of them at once, but maybe eventually.” He could make all the boots Taako could ask for, a whole new branch of Innocent Soles for people who weren't expected to make use of footwear like these. High fashion combined with the comfort and durability that Innocent Soles prides itself on. He shouldn't promise so much, but for the first time since he ended up in charge of the business, he's excited.

Kravitz puts all the sketches aside to reach for Taako’s hand, clasping it in both of his. He arrests Taako’s gaze and holds it steady and deep. “Taako, _thank you_.”

She stares at him, her breezy and aloof demeanor wavering, the faintest blush deepening her cheeks. “I… No, hey, no uh. No problem, my dude.” She chuckles, a nervous and fluttery sound. “Always forget about your clammy mitts there.”

“Right, sorry.” Kravitz releases him and pulls his hands back to himself.

Taako shrugs. “Eh, it's not that bad. It isn't something to worry about, though, is it? I mean, don't want you keeling over before you can pay me.”

Kravitz's lips tug in half a smile. “No, as long as I stay warm, it's not so bad. That's what these are for.” He fishes his gloves out of his pocket and waves them, the fingers flapping against the back of his hand. Taako smirks. "Anyway, I should get going, it's getting late."

"Is it? I'll be up for hours still." She eyes him over, gaze unrelenting as he stands up and straightens his clothes. “We should at least grab a drink to celebrate.”

Kravitz chuckles, smoothing his lapels. “Celebrating might be a bit premature, and I've had enough to drink anyway.” Damn if Kravitz doesn't hate the dejection that flashes a light wrinkle across Taako’s brow, though, so he quickly adds, “Maybe another night. Say, Friday?”

Taako’s shoulders rise and fall as she reclines back against the couch, arms rising to drape over the back cushions. The picture of haughty indifference, but Kravitz catches a relieved lift of her lips. “Sure, whatever homeboy. I'm not going anywhere.”

“Friday, then,” Kravitz says with a smile. “I’ll talk to you again soon, when I have updates.” Exiting into the hallway, he nearly runs into Lup, who reels backward to avoid him. She grins and hooks her thumbs in her front pockets, entirely unashamed at having been caught eavesdropping.

“Hey Grim, how's it hanging,” she chirps as she slides past him and ducks into Taako's dressing room.

“Grim? What does that mean?” he pleas, but she's already shut the door behind her. Two eerily similar voices start warbling together, but the muffle from the door and the distance makes the conversation unintelligible.

As Kravitz walks away, he tucks the scraps of paper into his inner pocket and flattens a hand carefully over the breast of his coat, conscientious of keeping them pressed and unwrinkled. He carries precious cargo now, the delicacy of mere paper and pen nibbling at the back of his mind. Taako has etched out the steps to Kravitz's career and the future of his company into some notebook and presented them for Kravitz to follow. Kravitz can't allow one wrinkle, one misstep.

By retracing the way Taako led him, he finds his way back out into the club proper again. The atmosphere is rather more sedate now that Taako isn’t injecting her boundless, off-kilter energy into the room. Another performer sings a ballad from atop a stool onstage about being separated from her lover.

The night air prickles at his nose when he steps outside, and he tugs his collar close about his neck before returning Magnus’ parting wave. Stepping off the sidewalk, Kravitz hurries across the street and follows the curb to where he parked. The Starblaster Club nestles on a side street in an outer part of town, and the streetlights are dim and far apart; fortunately, the light from the club diffuses down the road as well, just enough to aid Kravitz in sidestepping the occasional puddle and pothole.

He travels back to his apartment, his mind full of too many things to focus on any one of them. The boots: he has his designs, and tomorrow he and Killian can assemble a prototype from what they have on hand and from there get their whole new line started. The club: it had been so much more than he'd expected, unassuming and elegant, vibrating with the life and care of the people who make it what it is, not the least of which being Taako’s.

Taako. Infuriating, intoxicating Taako. Taako who could, as he now knows, climb and twist around a man like he’s a goddamn stripper pole. For once, Kravitz is grateful for the cold when he gets out of his car and crosses the parking lot. It soothes the burning in his cheeks, and he sucks in a lungful of it before going inside and climbing to his third-floor apartment.

With his front door behind him, Kravitz takes off his shoes and coat by rote, shedding his clothes layer by layer on his way to the shower. Going to watch Taako’s show was a terrible idea; letting Taako lure him into her heady dressing room and lounge close enough to share body heat had been an even worse one. Her perfume still lingers within the bridge of Kravitz’s nose, and the ghost of Taako’s fingers hovers near his bicep.

The shower sputters, then lulls into a low hiss as the water pressure steadies. Kravitz steps under the spray. Resolutely he ignores the way heat aches in his stomach, where it has slowly welled up over the course of the evening. He hasn't had a proper crush like this since his junior year of university, but he's well-versed in rejecting his body’s more base desires so he can keep his focus on other concerns.

Kravitz closes his eyes and tilts his face up into the spray, but the water doesn't slough away the afterimage of Taako’s thighs framing a man’s head before she gets her feet up on his shoulders. Kravitz opens his eyes and glares at the shower head. He refuses to give in so easily.

Soon enough his shower starts to go cool, so he’s forced to withdraw and towel himself off. He’s collecting his locs into a silk scarf when his cell phone starts to whine against the countertop. A picture of a woman with natural hair haloing her face pops up in the middle of the screen. Raven. “Oh, shit,” Kravitz mutters to himself, pressing Answer and turning on speaker phone. “You know how late it is here, right?”

A low laugh crackles through the device. “And yet you answered right away. My little worker bee isn't up partying, is he?”

“Not exactly.” Kravitz massages moisturizer into his cheeks.

“Right, God forbid you do anything fun.”

That tone of voice is all too familiar. He deftly changes the subject before she can start quoting The Shining at him. “How's vacation?”

“Oh, you know, lots of sand and margaritas. I've met some very interesting people, there's nothing quite like being on a boat with hundreds of random strangers.” Raven snorts. “You'd absolutely hate it.”

“It sounds terrible,” he agrees.

“So how's the factory?”

Kravitz swallows and hesitates. His new direction is not only risky, it falls far out of any pervue they've ever had. The odd disgruntled factory worker who doesn't like it he can stomach, but not her, not Raven, who got him back on his feet and gave him a home when he lost everything else. “Well, it's… fine. You know, same old, same old. Still making shoes.”

She hums. “Well, I should hope so. And is that all you've been up to?"

“Yeah. Yup. Pretty much." She tuts in response, and he frowns. Lying to Raven sours on his tongue, but he's not ready to admit everything to her. Not yet. A drag club itself she wouldn't bat an eye at, but it's never been his ideal evening activity before. If she starts to ask questions about the development of this new interest, he wouldn't be able to keep the rest from her for long. “Tell me about the people you've met.”

“All right, well, there's this one woman in one of the cabins down the hall from me, who is just a riot. She knits constantly, _constantly_ , I don't think she even knows what she’s making half the time…” While Kravitz finishes his nightly skincare routine, Raven regales him with a tale about the mysterious knitting woman whose name is yet unknown, but Raven is determined to discover it.

Her ship departs again in a few hours, but she promises to call again soon next time she has cell reception. “I'll be back before you know it. See you in a couple weeks.”

“Yeah, have fun,” he says, and the line dies. Kravitz plugs his phone in next to his bed and curls up beneath his mountain of blankets. Her question had been a simple one, four casual little words that sliced panic through his chest. He couldn't let her come back to find he's reduced her family's business to a failure and a laughing stock.

Taako’s face dances beneath his eyelids for just a moment, a hazy impression in the darkness, but he squeezes his eyes shut tighter. Kravitz is too busy to indulge such flights of fantasy. Innocent Soles will crumble if he lets his focus slip away to someone he barely even knows. Taako is a good resource and fun to be around, but Kravitz can't get any other ideas.

Raven's call had sharply jolted everything back into perspective, and reminded him he couldn't afford to get sidetracked. He won't let her down. He will dedicate every fiber of his being to the task of succeeding at this business, no matter what it takes.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OOF I was halfway through this chapter when I had a bit of a crisis and re-evaluated some things...
> 
> I took the "slow burn" tag off, now that I'm trying to focus on some personal projects (original fiction is!! even more exhausting!!) I want this to be indulgent and escapist without trying to stick to the original outline, so I'm just going all in right away lmao

Ren welcomes him in from her post behind the bar as he enters the Davy Lamp on a muggy Friday evening. He'd asked her once, shortly after they met, where the bar got its name; she explained a Davy lamp is used in flammable environments, usually for mining. He asked what mining had to do with anything, and she shrugged, smiled, and handed him the strongest red wine spritzer he'd ever had. He didn't have anymore questions after that.

His usual spot at the bar is vacant, but tonight he veers away from it to claim a small booth tucked to the side, which provides a little more privacy. Ren ventures out from behind the bar and stands over him as he settles his long parcel on the booth next to him. “Not keeping me company all night tonight?” she questions with a raised brow.

Kravitz chews the inside of his cheek. “No, I'm meeting someone. Can I get a glass of merlot, please?”

“Ooh, 'someone,' huh?" Ren’s mouth splits into a grin. "A bottle of our finest, coming right up. You have to step up your game if this is your choice for a date night."

"No, please, don't," Kravitz begs, "It's not a date."

From the look on her face, Ren doesn't believe him, but she shrugs. "Okay, the merlot, then." She leaves him to pick at the grain of the wood table in front of him and wait. Their finest probably isn't anything to write home about, anyway; he has no misconceptions about how miniscule their wine list is. He's lucky Ren _has_ a wine list, but it's cheap and serves his purposes on the nights that he finds himself here, so here he usually is.

Impressing Taako does not concern him, and the only way to prove that to himself is at the Davy Lamp.

He arrived ten minutes before their agreed time to settle in, but he waits almost twenty before Taako blows in. The sleeves of his black sweater widen around his wrists, but the hem only reaches just beneath his ribs to expose a plain of midriff above his impossibly tight pants. He pauses in the doorway, taking in his new surroundings; Kravitz can't help but feel that the bar has to get used to containing such a presence as Taako, rather than Taako settling into the bar.

His eyes brighten as they find Kravitz. "You know, I wouldn't have pegged a bar like this as the place a, uh, a guy like you would choose, but I dig it." He slides into the booth across from Kravitz. The soft haze of a warm, floral perfume follows him.

"It's close to work," Kravitz replies. "Did you have a show tonight?"

"Nah, it's one of my off nights. We rotate between me and guest performances." He raises his arm to wave Ren down. "I can't be up there _every_ night, gotta keep 'em interested. It's like playing hard to get."

Kravitz snorts, but before he can respond Ren makes her way over. He steels himself for humiliating teases, but instead she stares misty-eyed at Taako. “Are you-- Taako?”

"The one and only." Taako flashes her a winning smile.

"Have you seen his act?" Kravitz begins to wonder if he's the only person in this town who hadn’t already known who Taako is.

Ren glances at him with a quizzical frown, but an explanation from him doesn't interest her. Her focus is already back on Taako. "I have your cookbook, I-- it's probably silly, I've always wanted to be a professional chef, you were--are--like a hero to me. I didn't know you were still local, what are you doing here? With _Kravitz_?" Kravitz should probably be offended by her insinuation, but he's too preoccupied with figuring out what else she's talking about.

If Taako is surprised to be recognized like this, his face doesn't show it. "Hell yeah. Just giving some new things a try, Taako's got his fingers in plenty of pies."

She laughs. "Well, I'm glad you're keeping this pie occupied, he can be a pain in my neck when he's in a bad mood." Kravitz's face burns; Taako smirks at him. "So do you want anything to drink? Please don't order any food, I don't think I could serve _the_ Taako any of our greasy trash."

With his order for the most ludicrously named house cocktail, Ren gives them space again so Kravitz can question, "You wrote a cookbook?"

Taako lifts his shoulders in a shrug and tosses one hand. "What can I say, I'm a person of many talents. Some notice better than others."

The story neither begins nor ends there, but the sparsity of details can only mean that Taako won't give him any more. Kravitz lets it go, instead lifting his box onto the table and pushing it toward Taako. "Here, we put these together today. Try them on, let me know what you think."

“Oh, bitchin’.” Taako snatches it and tears into the package like Kravitz might change his mind. Turning in his seat to hang over the side of the booth, he kicks off his flats and slides his right foot into one boot, his fingers stroking up the leather on his calf before zipping it shut. The leather is glossy black and comes to a sharp point at the toe, heels slashing down six inches to the ground.

He rolls his ankle, bends his knee, and puts on the left one. "Holy shit.” He jumps up, striding away a few paces before spinning on his heel and returning, putting on a show for any in the bar who care to witness. He grins down at Kravitz.

Pride and satisfaction swell in Kravitz’s chest, Taako’s enthusiasm digging into his sternum. “This is just the prototype, mind you. To make sure it all fit together properly and could hold weight the way we expected it to. The real ones will have more… finesse to them.”

“They gotta have-- don't forget to put... cute shit on them, lace or buckles, something like that. That’s the most important part.” Taako flops back down to a seat, this time next to Kravitz.

“Absolutely, I wouldn't dare leave that out.” Kravitz's chuckle hitches over his breath and dies as Taako scoots closer under the pretense of adjusting one boot, his leather clad knee brushing against Kravitz's. “Uh, Taako.”

Taako sits up from fiddling with a zipper, fake eyelashes fluttering and painted lips curling. “What's up?”

Kravitz clears his throat and wishes Taako wouldn't lean so close, that he wouldn't radiate such warmth, that his skin wasn't so tempting to touch just to find out if it's as soft as it looks...

“One Sex on My Face! Let me know what you think. You two need anything else?” Ren sets Taako’s bright-colored drink down before them, her smile too bright for Kravitz to have any right to get annoyed.

Kravitz shakes his head. “I think we're set, thanks Ren.” Taako still watches him, waiting for what he was going to say, as she leaves. Kravitz takes a drink of wine and clears his throat again. "Taako, I think.. we may have a misunderstanding on our hands."

Taako's eyebrows rise. "Oh?"

"About the nature of our relationship."

"Oh."

Taako is a performer to his very bones. On stage, the distance between himself and his audience gives space for subtler shifts in his expressions to go unnoticed; only the most deliberate, exaggerated faces or gestures will reach them. He controls what everyone else thinks he's feeling. This close, however, Kravitz notices the droop at the corner of his lip and the twitch in the middle of his brow before they smooth over once more into a schooled calm, mild disinterest. Another mask, another guard. “And what is that, exactly?”

Kravitz takes a breath. “I need to focus on the company, Taako, the factory. If I made you think anything between us was… more than just professional, I'm sorry, but--”

“Yo, hey, dude. Let me stop you right there before you embarrass yourself more.” Taako holds up a hand, and Kravitz stops. “Chill, I get it. No worries.” He’s casual, friendly even, but a brittle sheen glazes across his eyes like panes of glass. He rises, stretches his legs, and slides back into the opposite booth. “Let's be honest, I'm probably too much for you to handle anyway. You'd never keep up.”

“That's probably true.” Taako retrieves his drink from Kravitz’s side of the table and drains more than half of it in one go. “Certainly not when it comes to drinking, apparently.”

Taako swallows a hiccup and smirks. “Think you're funny, do you, big guy?” He polishes off the cocktail and puts it down with a force of finality, wiping the corner of his mouth with his thumb. “We’ll see about that.” Despite having just sat back down, Taako gets up and slides back out of the booth. “Thanks for the boots, handsome. Let me know when the real deal is done.”

“Uh, yeah, sure thing. Have a good night.” By the time the last word manages to tumble out of Kravitz’s mouth, Taako is already at the door, flats swinging from his hooked fingers and his other hand sending Ren a wave, then he vanishes.

Bemused, Kravitz finishes the dregs of his wine and carries their two glasses back to the bar for Ren. “What the hell was that freakout about?”

“Aw, geez.” Ren takes the glasses from him. “A few years ago he opened a super fancy restaurant, just down the street from here actually. It was a big deal, drew in a whole lot of people, he was even on local TV stations and stuff.” She pauses, tilting her chin in thought, and dumps out the leftover ice from Taako’s drink. “You must have still been gone at school.” She wipes her hands on her jeans. “It was only open for a couple months before a bunch of people got… real sick. A few died. It closed down right after, he disappeared, I would have sworn he skipped town.”

“Holy fuck,” Kravitz murmurs. Taako mentioned a restaurant once, but he never would have guessed even a fraction of the story.

She nods as he pays his tab. “How’d you meet him, then? What were you saying about an act?”

Kravitz considers his responses before settling on, “I ran into him on the street, sort of. It’s a long story. He works at a drag club near the outside of town.”

“Huh.” Ren hands his credit card back. "Well, maybe I'll stop by there sometime." She beams, perky and earnest as ever. "He seems fun. I see why you like him."

He’s at a loss for what to say about that, so he just says good-bye and departs. The night is unseasonably warm, freeing him from the responsibility of layering himself in heavy coats and thick gloves, giving him room to breathe as he walks.

The mildness of the evening coaxes his wine-infused blood into motion, his head feeling like it's been pumped with helium, and for just these few minutes he indulges in fantasies and what-ifs. Between the bar and his apartment, he can craft wistful little daydreams and let them drift out into space where he won't have to worry about revisiting them. If he had met Taako under different circumstances, perhaps they would be different. If he didn't have a business to keep afloat, if he hadn't needed to snatch up the first valuable resource he found and invest all his hopes into it, Taako could have been a friend, or more, instead of a contract.

He would have liked to discover, bit by bit, what Taako enjoys doing in his spare time, how he would have to make nice with his sister and assortment of odd colleagues, what they would do together if nothing revolved around business transactions. He wouldn't ask Taako to talk about his restaurant if he didn't want to, but he would encourage him to cook a meal together someday. He'd want to see Taako in his element without the pressure to please and entertain. Taako veils himself in layers of apathy and intrigue, yet reveals peeks of debilitating honesty without blinking, like he's trying to determine how and under what terms he is loved or understood. Kravitz thinks he could be entirely different in more of a private, comfortable setting.

The click of his lock behind him cuts off the rest of that train of thought. He's back home, back in the real world, where he has no claim in Taako’s personal life and no right to help with his emotional wellbeing. He goes to bed early that night.

Kravitz stays home through most of that weekend, and then the next three days he haunts the factory floor, overseeing every little detail as the first proper boots take form, sleek and sharp, first one at a time then several of them in stages. Once it's clear that no hiccups will arise and disrupt production, his concern shifts to what he’s going to be doing with the stock growing in stacks on their pallets. Small as they are, he doesn’t have an additional center for storage of their products. Thus, at his beckoning, Taako appears at the factory the next day.

In a pink skirt, cropped faux-fur jacket, and the prototype boots, he looks like a particularly garish dandelion jutting from the cracks of a sidewalk. Yet he makes himself comfortable amidst the industrial backdrop, hands on his hips as he peers up at the dusty upper windows. When Kravitz opens the heavy metal door, Taako smiles and saunters forward. “Ready to go?”

“Yeah.” Kravitz lets the door swing shut on its own behind him, the lock setting itself. “You’re going to be able to navigate, right?”

“Sure, of course.” Taako waves him off as they head together toward the hearse. At the eyebrow Kravitz raises at him, he snorts and adds, “That’s what phones are for, my dude.” Demonstratively, he holds his phone up over the car so Kravitz can see it as he circles to the opposite side. “I got this. Hey, what do you know about, like, the right way to pour tea?”

Kravitz makes a show of rolling his eyes before ducking into the car. At least Taako is helping him at all, after the awkward way he left things. Yet when he called the evening before, Taako answered immediately, and rattled off the names of three local drag clubs without pause when Kravitz asked if he had any connections. "Let me just take you there, it'll go a lot better than if you go on your own and put your foot in your mouth the whole time. Pun unintended." He made a few more shoe-related jokes before they settled on meeting at the factory and hung up.

Now, in the hearse together, he never could have guessed he’d ever hurt Taako’s feelings by the way he coaches Kravitz through the basics of tea etiquette between providing directions to the first club. The spontaneity of Taako’s conversation topics is, apparently, matched only by the breadth of his knowledge.

“It’s right up there, park wherever. The owner of this place takes some… getting used to,” he warns as Kravitz parks against the curb in front. “I was terrified of the dude when we met, but the minute you get him talking about tea? Total softie. Don't let him intimidate you.”

The Cave, as it is denoted by the sign above the door, is far less subtle from the outside than the Starblaster is, crouched long and low over the sidewalk. Dark velvet curtains hide any view of the interior, posters for drag parties and other events covering the stucco between windows like mismatched tilework. One of the more weathered posters features Taako’s name and a pair of heavy-lidded eyes peering through darkness.

Kravitz hoists a black gym bag over his shoulder and falls into step just behind Taako, who circles around the club to the back, where he bangs on a back door and calls in a singsong voice, “Klarg, darling! It's your favorite person on the planet!”

A moment or two passes, then something shuffles behind the door. The bolt slides, the door opens. Before them towers a man well over six feet tall, biceps bulging where they frame massive pectorals. “Taako,” he grumbles, “What a _surprise_.” Kravitz eyes his companion; had Taako not told him they were coming?

Taako smiles his most simpering smile yet and steps up to Klarg, pressing a hand against his chest. “Now, don't be mad. I brought a friend you're going to just adore.”

“Hi,” Kravitz interjects, “Uh, I'm Kravitz. Nice to meet you?” He sets his shoulders to hold up under the pressure of Klarg’s study. “We can come another time if you're busy. Set something up in advance.” He hooks a hand around Taako’s forearm and pulls him meaningfully back toward the car.

Klarg shakes his head and gestures with one massive hand. “No, you're already here. Come on in.” As Klarg turns back inside, Taako gives a grin and a thumbs-up. Kravitz’s returning smile is shaky at best.

The back door leads directly into a large dressing room, sheer stockings and feather boas hanging over chairs and tubes of lipstick and eyeshadow palettes abandoned all along the wall-length vanity. They pass through and soon arrive at a modest office, fuller than Kravitz’s own and touched with personal effects, including a tray with a tea set on a minibar table. Klarg gestures toward the latter. “Would either of you care for some tea? I have a lovely green, oolong, I believe some jasmine left…”

“You know me, I can't say no to some good oolong,” Taako says, draping himself into the leather loveseat on the wall opposite the desk. Taako arches his eyebrows at Kravitz meaningfully.

Kravitz lowers into a wooden chair rather than joining Taako at the couch. “Ah, I suppose if you have any black…”

Klarg sets an electric kettle going and circles behind his desk as it warms up. “Now, what exactly are you here for?”

Kravitz doesn’t need Taako’s hand gesture to take his cue. “Taako and I are designing and producing a line of high-heeled shoes for male-bodied people. I'm sure you're as familiar as Taako is with how difficult it can be to find well-fitting women’s shoes, and few of those are made to last under pressures like performing. But ours will be made with different body types and heavy use in mind. We've started production this week, and Taako thought you and your performers would be interested in being among the first to order.”

The kettle gurgles and hisses; Klarg tends to the tea, his back to them for just a moment before he balances three saucers back to the desk. He sits, stirs his own tea, and hums. “Interesting. You have some with you, I take it?”

“Of course.” Kravitz reaches down to his bag and sifts through the tissue paper packed in for safety, drawing out one of the black thigh boots. “I have pairs of both our current designs here. Taako is wearing this one now.” Taako rolls up to his feet, stretching his back before strutting around them so Klarg can get eyes on the polished leather boots that gleam up his calves. Klarg reaches over the desk to take the boot proffered in Kravitz’s hands and make a closer inspection. “We reinforced it with a steel rod, so the heel can support well over three hundred pounds without bending or breaking, even with intense activity. The inside has more room than women’s shoes typically do, and there’s elastic along the zipper to help fit thicker calves.”

Klarg eyes the boots Taako shows off, then examines the one in his hands. Unlike the unembellished prototype Taako wears, buckled straps circle the ankle and around the lower thigh. “My family has been making men’s high-end shoes for generations,” Kravitz continues, “We know what we’re doing. _I_ know what we’re doing. If these are successful enough, we’ll be able to launch a wider product line with more designs and reach a broader audience. But I can't do it without the support of local dancers and clubs like yours first.”

“He’s basically magic, Klarg.” Prancing over, Taako slings an arm around Klarg’s shoulder and leans down close to his ear. Kravitz frowns briefly. “Just look at these things. They’re comfortable and sexy as fuck.” He hoists his leg up to the desk, heel hooking over the edge. “Buy the boy’s shoes, honey, you’ll never regret it.”

Klarg sighs and sips his tea. “Well, no need to beg, Taako.” Taako scoffs, but Klarg continues unphased as Taako slumps down into a seat next to Kravitz, “If Taako trusts you on this, I'm willing to take a chance. Tell you what, I can do ten pairs for now, and if they prove to be worth the investment, I’ll be in touch with another order. Maybe we can discuss these future designs, as well. We might like to give some input.”

Maintaining a composed smile proves to be a challenge, but Kravitz wrangles the surge of relief and ecstasy for the sake of professionalism. “Perfect. Here’s my card. You can be in touch with me directly with what sizes you need, and I’ll get the order submitted.” He produces a business card from several tucked in his wallet. “We can talk more about pricing as well, but I’m sure we could find a friends and family rate that we’re both satisfied with.”

“Wonderful.” Klarg half-rises from his chair to lean over the desk, and Kravitz does the same to meet him halfway for a handshake. When the hulking man sits back again, he seems more at ease now that matters of business are out of the way, and he actually smiles as he lifts his teacup to his lips. His eyes gleam with a subdued interest as he considers Kravitz. “How in the blazes did you find this one, Taako?”

They stay long enough to finish their tea and for Taako to recount his version of how they met, with Kravitz’s objections strewn in, then say good-bye and head out the way they came. Klarg stands at the corner of the building and waves as their car pulls away from the sidewalk and leaves him and his Cave behind.

Once Klarg’s club is out of sight around the corner, the finality of the ordeal sinks into Kravitz’s stomach. “Well. That… could have gone a lot worse.”

“I told you he’s a pushover.” Taako hoists his seat backward with a _thunk_ so he can kick his feet up onto the dashboard. “Hang a, uh, a left up here.”

After Klarg, the other two connections to which Taako introduces him are dry and dull in comparison, and intimidate Kravitz far less than if he hadn’t faced Klarg first. Perhaps that was Taako’s plan all along. And with one win under his belt, Kravitz hits his stride with ease, making light conversation between selling points and Taako’s showing off. Neither of their orders are especially sizable, but Kravitz is making contacts and spreading word, so he's satisfied with the results.

Taako, on the other hand, utters barely five words after they wrap up their final meeting and return to the car. Once he’s made himself comfortable in the passenger seat, Taako regards Kravitz with a careful consideration for a few moments before breaking his uncharacteristic silence. “You’re… not too bad at this. How long you been doing this gig?”

Kravitz snorts. “Technically? A few months. I’d help out here and there before, when someone else was running it, but I never really meant to go into the family business, so to speak.”

Silence settles between them as Taako considers that for a few minutes before asking, “Who was in charge before you? Parents?”

“Uh, sort of.” He shrugs and crooks a tilted smile in Taako’s direction without turning away from the road. “We’re barely related, but she’s the only family I really have. Moved to London for six years for me before the adoption went through and then she brought me back here. I don’t know why she decided to retire and leave everything to me now, of all times.”

“You could ask her,” Taako points out.

Kravitz sighs. “She’s done so much for me. I don’t want to seem ungrateful, or that I don’t want this.”

Taako examines his nails, picking at a chip in his polish, and asks simply, “Do you, though?”

Kravitz swallows and takes a right turn just a bit too sharp, making Taako brace one arm against the door handle. “Sorry,” Kravitz mutters, and Taako’s question is left behind them as a mere bump in the road. Conversation dwindles, and the drive back to the warehouse only takes another five minutes before Kravitz pulls into his parking space.

It’s not a matter as simple as whether this is what he wants or if it’s the direction he wants his life to go. What he wanted was to write music, and Raven had indulged him all the way through paying for a four-year music theory and composition degree. A degree which began collecting dust above his mantel long before she left him the factory.

“Why don’t I show you around the place?” Kravitz gestures toward the brickface in front of them. “Seems only fair that you should get to know it a bit.”

The change of subject works wonders, judging by the way Taako’s eyes light up and his wry grin slides into place. “Hell yeah. Show me where the magic happens.” He fumbles to escape the car in record time, smirking at Kravitz over his shoulder as he heads for the back door. Kravitz catches up to unlock the door and guide him inside.

A fit of anxiety clenches his chest as Kravitz leads Taako into the factory for the first time, but he presses forward in spite of it. Taako had existed in something of a different sphere before now, influencing the factory but distinct from it, like a muse. Now Taako, ephemeral and larger than life, has stepped down into Kravitz’s stagnant old world of leather and family tradition. He found a gap where he didn't quite fit and squeezed himself in anyway, and Kravitz and Innocent Soles have to get used to that.

The back door opens into the workers’ locker room, smattered with signs of the transition between factory work and real individual lives, but otherwise unremarkable. They pass through a door on the opposite side, and the floor bursts around them, industrial equipment whirring and thumping and the murmur of chatter threading through it. Taako’s eyes widen to take as much in at once as he can.

“Hey, boss!” Killian’s familiar voice rises above the background noise. She squeezes past a coworker walking in the opposite direction, and once she turns her focus on him again she notices Taako and stops. “Oh. Hey.”

Taako blinks twice, eyebrows arching. “Killian, what a, a surprise seeing you. Here.”

“I thought I’d give him a quick tour of the place. Show him how his designs are actually made,” Kravitz explains.

Killian nods. “Why don't I join you?” She gives Taako a conspiratorial smirk. “I definitely know the floor better than he does.”

“I don't think that's true,” Kravitz huffs, squaring his shoulders, but Taako just laughs at him and follows Killian as she starts telling him about the die cutting presses nearby.

Ruffled, Kravitz folds his arms across his chest and flanks Taako as the three of them follow the natural path that flows through the process of making and forming each pair of shoes. Contrary to what Killian may believe, he knows at least the basics, enough to have guided Taako without help. He injects his own additions and anecdotes to Killian’s brief explanations, intent on catching Taako’s interest by proving he knows what he's talking about without actually making an ass of himself to Killian.

Despite Kravitz’s valiant efforts to be interesting and engaging, however, Taako is indifferent for most of the tour, until discovering the plastic foot-shaped lasts organized by size in a line of storage tubs. “Oh-ho-ho boy. Holy shit.” He plucks one of the lasts out of a tub. "You just have boxes of feet, huh? Just hundreds of feet lying around? If this isn't-- I mean, this _has_ to be a fetish thing, right?”

“They're for putting all the pieces together and making sure they're the right shape and size,” Killian explains.

“Creepy.” Taako drops the last back into one of the boxes. Killian takes it and returns it to its correct box.

“We used them on the shoes you're wearing right now, you know.” Kravitz points out. Taako mocks a horrified expression down at his boots. Killian sighs, long-suffering, and declares she’s going to return to work.

“Come on.” Kravitz beckons to Taako to take him upstairs and through the offices to his own little space carved out of one corner of the building. Taako delves deeper without hesitation as Kravitz closes the door behind them, gravitating to the display of articles and the Oxfords. Kravitz hovers a couple paces away to let him indulge his curiosity at his leisure. "Got any more work today?" Taako asks, moving on to snoop over Kravitz’s desk.

"I'll get started on putting these orders together, everything needs to be ironed out as soon as possible.” He collects the proper order forms from a file cabinet to one side. As he turns again, he barely catches sight of one of his pens disappearing into Taako’s pocket. Kravitz doesn't comment, continuing instead, “Now that we have this stock built up, I’m eager to get it out there.” Rather than taking a seat at the desk, he places his papers down on it and leans against the edge. As much as he enjoys the company, nothing else in the factory could be of interest to Taako, so hopefully he'll get the hint and be on his way.

He should have known better. Taako looks at him, smirks, and sidles closer. “You look pretty damn important like this,” he observes, “All done up in a nice suit, in your private office. Mr. Business Owner.”

Kravitz chuckles and tugs at his tie, self-conscious. “Don't forget what I'm an owner _of_. It's just shoes, Taako. I don't know if 'important’ is the right word.”

“It's important to me,” Taako says with a defiant scowl creasing his brow. “And to… to everyone like me. And to some folks who aren't like me. There’s, there’s millions out there who want shoes like yours, they just don't know they're out there. They're  gonna go fucking nuts for your shoes.”

Because of you, Kravitz wants to point out, but he bites his tongue. Taako is right; they may just be shoes to him, but they could make a world of difference to someone else. “Right. You’re right. Thanks.”

“Sure.” Taako folds his arms across his chest. “Don't forget it, either, I don't want to have to hang around all the time just to keep that cute head on straight.”

“Cute, huh?” Kravitz says, because nothing more clever comes to mind.

Taako grins, shrugs. “Yeah. Especially when you get all flustered and weird when Killian comes and steals your spot.”

“I didn’t-- I wasn't--” Kravitz scrambles to come up with a self-defense, but it only makes Taako’s grin widen with every trip of his tongue, so he cuts himself off with a sigh. “It just caught me off guard, is all.”

“Uh-huh.” Taako most definitely doesn't believe him. He doesn't believe himself, either. So maybe he had hoped to impress Taako. For all he'd said about focusing on Innocent Soles that night at the bar, he hadn’t accounted for the fact that Taako is tangled up in it now, too. There is no new line without Taako, he can't look at it without seeing Taako’s influence. And, if faced with the option, he wouldn’t erase that for anything in the world.

Taako’s persistent talking only barely breaches through Kravitz's thoughts. “Hey, don't… don't get me wrong, it's very flattering for you to get so jelly over little ol’ Taako. Killian ain't exactly my type, and her wife would murder me anyway. But uh, anyway, uh…”

Kravitz closes the distance between them in two short strides and clasps both of Taako’s upper arms. Taako’s teeth clack together as the touch silences him immediately, gaze meeting Kravitz’s. For an eternal split second, they just watch each other.

He’s not going to be able to push Taako away, not even if he wanted to. They can’t hang in limbo forever, either, dancing around each other in a constant pattern of approach and retreat. He doesn’t know where the point of no return was; it’s too long past now.

Taako doesn’t keep his mouth shut when Kravitz leans close. “What happened to keeping it professional?” Kravitz snorts and kisses him to make him quiet again.

It's firm but careful, closed lips lingering together just to know the feel of each other. Taako pulls away first, looking up at him with wide eyes. Kravitz swallows and tries to form words, and that's when Taako surges forward again. With Kravitz's hands still on his arms, Taako's fingers curl and dig into the sides of Kravitz's blazer, gripping him to shove him bodily backwards. The desk behind him grinds against the floor with a whine of protest when his weight pushes it back several inches, until one hand flies away from Taako's arm and steadies him against the top of the desk. He doesn't have time to worry about finding a more balanced position; Taako is already kissing him.

Kravitz would be a filthy liar if he pretended he hadn't wondered what kissing Taako would be like, if he denied how frequently Taako's hands and mouth and body occupy his dreams on particularly lonely nights. Taako is a contradiction, sometimes coy and sometimes demanding, so Kravitz's imagination often waffled on how chaste a kisser he would be. Even his wildest fantasies, however, could not have prepared him for the reality of Taako kissing him like he's never cared about anything else.

His nose mashes against Taako's cheek, but breathing is a secondary concern to the slick warmth of the mouth moving against his, sliding over his lower lip and pulling back again to renew his efforts. Kravitz's breath hitches when he catches a brush of teeth, and Taako responds instantly, closing around his lip to scrape it with his teeth deliberately.

This time when he withdraws, he extricates himself entirely, releasing his hold on Kravitz's jacket and taking a step away to brush his skirt smooth. Kravitz stares at him, reeling, making Taako grin around the flush sitting over his cheekbones. "As much as I'd love to stick around, you have that important paperwork to get to, right? Better uh, better get on that, darling."

Kravitz clears his throat and stands up straight, tugging at his suit jacket to make himself appear presentable once more. He’s not sure it does much good. “Uh, yeah. I probably should. Thank you, uh… for helping me out today.”

“Anytime.” Without further ado, Taako crosses to the door, pausing to glance once more at Kravitz and add with a grin, “See you around, Kravitz.” Just like that, he disappears.

Slumping into his chair, Kravitz stares at the door for several beats while his brain catches up with the warmth fluttering in his stomach. A grin breaks over his face, hysteria bubbling out as a soft giggle. He shuffles his attention back to the task at hand, but can't keep himself from smiling over it in the quiet privacy of his office.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ive had this first scene written for months, and Im very excited things are getting where Ive wanted to go since I started this!!

Backstage is blessedly empty when Kravitz creeps in from the front house. The buzz of conversation carries from somewhere nearby, probably a green room, and the sounds of the performance behind him pounds through the walls, but not a soul sees him hustle down the hall to Taako’s dressing room and shut the door behind him. He breathes a sigh and takes a seat on the couch.

He can hear the distant rumble of applause, and moments after it fades, the door bursts open. Kravitz stands. Taako grins at him, chest still heaving and skin still flushed, and nudges the door shut with his foot. His ensemble from the show is black and sheer, layered with a sheen of rainbow glitter on his gown. “Well, who is this handsome fella who broke into my dressing room? How will I defend myself against such an intruder?”

“Just beat me with an umbrella.” Kravitz chuckles and opens his arm to receive Taako, who crosses the distance between them to fling his arms around Kravitz’s neck. He squeezes Kravitz in a hug for a moment before he kisses him. It's still new, each kiss between them still deliberate and profound. Their third kiss, Kravitz thinks; he wants to kiss Taako until he loses count, until numbers mean nothing.

“Glad you made it, almost thought you'd skip out on me,” Taako admits, his grin sly but his eyes serious. Work kept them apart for an unbearable four days, Kravitz too busy managing their new influx of orders to do anything but overthink his relationship - whatever that may entail - with Taako until it boiled over into a series of long-winded texts late in the night. Taako responded almost immediately, assuring Kravitz that they should talk more in depth as soon as they could meet again in person.

Kravitz returns to the couch while Taako approaches his vanity to start cleaning himself up. “Of course not. I want to… make this work. But I don't think it will be easy.” He takes a deep breath, clasping his hands together too tight, trying not to fidget. “I want to keep seeing you, I want to… find out where this might go. But I don't think we should tell anyone, at least not right away. I don't want people to get the wrong idea, it would discredit your work and could kill the line before it even has a chance.”

Taako, whose back is turned, remains quiet as he scrubs makeup off his face and loosens his hair from its updo. When he faces Kravitz once more, he nods. “Sure thing. Is… was that all?”

The question surprises a laugh out of Kravitz. “Yeah, that's all. It doesn't bother you? Keeping this secret?”

Taako lifts his palms toward the ceiling in an exaggerated shrug and strides closer to the couch. “Nah.” He pauses, lips pursing. “Well. Can I tell Lup?”

“Only if you're sure she won't tell a soul.” Kravitz isn't thrilled by the prospect of making an exception on principle, but he's seen glimpses of just how close they are. He knew from the start that he would have to cede this ground.

Taako beams, standing over him in front of the couch. “Sweet. She can keep her mouth shut, promise. Now…” He lifts his foot and props it up on the armrest of the couch. His boot gleams in the warm light, fresh and polished, following the curve of Taako’s leg up to the hook of his knee. Kravitz's gaze doesn’t stop at the edge of the boot, sliding up the slope of his thigh, which is tense from the position he holds it in. Kravitz’s breath sticks like sap in his throat when his eyes meet Taako’s groin. Right there in front of his face. He glances up to meet Taako’s licentious expression. “Mind giving me a hand?” he purrs. 

Kravitz had hoped their meeting would conclude with a bit of making out, but this is… entirely different. He flicks his tongue over his lower lip and lifts his hands to hold the outside of Taako's calf steady as he tugs at the zipper. The leather is warm under his palm; had it been the stage lights that heated it, or the exertion of Taako’s body?

The zipper hits the bumper at Taako’s ankle. He withdraws, but Taako taps his toe twice impatiently, his eyebrows rising toward his hairline. Swallowing past his suddenly dry mouth, Kravitz cups his hand beneath Taako’s thigh, grabs the back of the boot, and slides it off.

He takes a risk; he leans forward to press an innocent kiss to the tights-clad knee in his hand. If the sharp little noise Taako makes is any indication, he approves. Taako rights his posture, but his opposite leg is soon in front of Kravitz, this time his foot resting on Kravitz’s thigh. So he repeats, lingering over the process a second or two longer, savoring the rough yet delicate texture of the nylon and the supple warmth of Taako’s skin beneath it. When he kisses Taako’s knee this time, he parts his lips a little.

“Hot damn,” Taako rasps, like sandpiper lines his throat, "I knew you'd look good down there, but I didn't think you'd be this… this  _ into _ it.”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Kravitz murmurs, finding courage now in increasing doses. He drags his hand up from Taako’s ankle along the outside of his leg, chasing the curve of his thigh toward where his dress is bunched up around his hips, the obscurity of what Kravitz might find beneath unbearably tempting.

He jumps a little when Taako slaps his hand away. “Ah, ah, ah,” Taako chides. He digs his stockinged foot hard against Kravitz’s upper thigh; he hisses a sharp inhale, shoulders tensing. “What, not even going to buy a guy dinner first?”

“You wanted my help with the boots. I thought you might need a hand with the rest, too.” Kravitz smiles up at him, feigning innocence.

Taako clicks his tongue. “Cheeky,” he mutters, easing his foot out of Kravitz’s lap. His face softens in thought. “Do you want to--”

“Taako!” A voice booms down the hall and through the shut door; Kravitz recognizes it as Magnus’ from the intensity alone. “You're not still here, are you?” The doorknob twists, the door cracking open, but Taako bounds across the room and slams his shoulder into it in the blink of an eye.

“I'm changing, asshole!” Taako snaps.

Magnus huffs on the other side of the door. “Geez, all right. Did you forget you were supposed to pick up Angus tonight?” By the curse he hisses under his breath, Taako had indeed forgotten. “You better get going.”

“None of us will ever hear the end of it if you're late again,” grumbles someone else, not as familiar to Kravitz. It takes him a second to place it as the bartender. He never caught the man's name.

“Yeah, I got it, I'm going.” Taako waits for a second, and when nothing happens, he adds, “Give me five minutes to put on some fucking clothes, Jesus. Are you going to hover there forever?”

Magnus laughs, and the bartender says, “Hurry up, or I'll make Magnus kick the door down.”

“Lucretia and Dav don't want me doing that anymore, actually,” Magnus murmurs, and their conversation about whether they would get away with damaging the property fades as two pairs of footsteps depart down the hall.

“Sounds like we'll have to put a pin in this for now. Raincheck.” Taako rolls his eyes. “That brat is gonna get hell for this.”

“I didn't know you had a kid,” Kravitz remarks, vaguely concerned by the concept. If there's one thing Taako is not, it would be parental.

Taako dismisses the statement by blowing a raspberry as he scrounges through his wardrobe for streetwear. “No, god. He's not my kid. Angus is… a long story.” He wrangles jeans on over his tights before shedding the shimmery gown and shrugs into a button-down without doing any of the buttons. “Okay. I'll make sure the big dummy at the front door is distracted, you go out the alleyway.”

“Right.” Kravitz stands and stops Taako just long enough for a quick peck on his cheek, and then he's rushing out the door and leaving Kravitz alone once more in the dressing room.

He waits a minute or two, listening at the door for signs of life in the hallway. Hearing nothing, he eases the door open and slinks out. Not a soul in sight. Making his way to the door and out into the alley gives him no trouble, and as he sneaks out onto the sidewalk he catches sight of Taako chatting with Magnus, the latter’s back to Kravitz. Kravitz gives a small wave in Taako’s direction; as expected, Taako doesn't make any indication that he notices. Kravitz turns and heads into the cover of darkness toward his car.

His reasons for wanting to remain discreet were practical, but he has to admit to himself that the secrecy is rather thrilling. Intrigue has not exactly been present in his life, his single-minded pursuit of personal goals meaning that getting tangled in the complex dramas of others’ lives was kept at a minimum. Dates and romance had also been embarrassingly few due to lack of a social life. Yet here he is, humble little Kravitz, courting a glamorous performer and everyone he knows none the wiser. It can't last forever, but for now they have something, fluid and undefined as it is, that is  _ theirs _ and theirs alone.

Taako texts him an hour or two later, while he's sitting at home with the TV on to pass the time. Angus is a foster child that the club’s manager, Lucretia, picked up a year or two ago, and since then he's ingratiated himself with most of the club staff.

_ Well, it takes a village to raise a child, I guess _ , Kravitz taps into his phone.

Taako responds,  _ little twerp barely needs raising,  _ immediately followed by, _ he reads high school level shit for funsies. _

Kravitz huffs in amusement to himself.  _ Do I detect a hint of pride? _

_ fuck no. dont get any funny ideas, I just let him hang around me so much bc he needs at least one cool role model. leaving him with the rest of these losers would just be cruel. _ Kravitz doesn't believe him, but he doesn't say so. They move on to making dinner plans instead. Kravitz promises to make reservations for somewhere nice but discreet in the bigger neighboring city, and Taako lists off which nights he has free before bidding him good night with a winky face for good measure.

Taako is particular and whimsical, piled on top of which is his past as a professional, a restauranteur. The importance of Kravitz’s choice in a venue can't be overstated. Fortunately, he’s reasonably certain of his pick; Raven often schmoozed with other business execs at nice restaurants, and he was familiar enough to at least narrow down his options. By the next day, he has a reservation for Thursday evening.

Butterflies multiply little by little in his stomach, and by the time Thursday rolls around, the anxiety and anticipation of seeing Taako flutters hot in his every vein. His chance at a first impression flew by before he could do anything about it, but that only raises the stakes for their first proper date. He's got to prove he can be suave and respectable, in spite of their initial meeting.

Kravitz dresses with a hypercritical eye for every detail. He discards the earrings he originally chose because that would be  _ too much _ gold and opts for a pair of emerald studs that match his waistcoat with a deep green paisley pattern and complement his gold tie and cufflinks; tucks and untucks a pocket square into his jacket three times before finally leaving it on the dresser; adds just a thin sweep of eyeliner around his lids to deepen his eyelashes. He stares at himself in the mirror, straightens his lucky tie pin, and swallows past the swell of his anxiety. Well, better than nothing. He runs out of time to fiddle any further, just dabbing cologne on his neck before rushing out.

Taako had given him his address, but they agreed to meet around the corner to avoid detection from Taako’s housemates. To Kravitz's immense surprise, Taako already awaits him at the curb, a long jacket pulled over his shoulders to protect against the chill of his animal print jumpsuit. He raises a hand to shield his eyes from Kravitz’s headlights and hustles to the passenger door. “Howdy,” he greets, leaning over the console to kiss Kravitz’s cheek.

Kravitz beams, warmth tingling under his skin. “Good evening. How was your day?”

“Ugh, don't even get me started,” Taako groans, then immediately gets started. Kravitz listens and lends sympathy for the minor offenses of everyday life. Conversation smooths into a comfortable rhythm about hobbies and music, and the twenty-minute drive to the restaurant flies behind them unnoticed.

The restaurant they arrive at is classy in its simplicity, with a cream-painted brick exterior and warm lamplight reaching out through the windows. Taako hums. “I think I’ve heard of this place.” Judging by his tone, Kravitz takes that to be a good thing, and a little of his anxiety melts away. The maitre d’ welcomes them with a smile and bustles them to a table close to the bar, where wine bottles stack from floor to ceiling. Aged wood makes up nearly every surface.

“You ever been here before?” Taako asks, the lilting piano music soft enough that he doesn't have to raise his voice.

Kravitz shakes his head, cracking open one of the menus the maitre d’ had left. “Raven recommended it to me a while ago. I think she was trying to tell me to go on more dates.”

That tugs a laugh out of Taako, a high little giggle that makes Kravitz smile too. “That’s uh, usually good advice, but I'm glad you didn't follow it.” Kravitz raises his eyebrows. “I want you for myself.”

“Well, you've got me. By the laws of civility and good manners, I can't make a break for it until the check is paid and you are safely home.”

A sly smile and wrinkled nose creep across Taako’s face. “Hoo boy. You… you are just dying to be at my mercy, aren’t you?” Something dangerous and devilish gleams in his eyes. “Really liked being under my boot?”

The arrival of a waiter rescues Kravitz from having to stutter together as dignified a response as he can manage, and once they order he diverts the conversation back to safer topics. Taako tells him stories about pulling pranks with his sister, brushing past how they’d bounced from place to place before Kravitz can ask about it. He wouldn’t have anyway; he’s familiar enough with the bleak uncertainty of childhood displacement, never being quite sure what “home” means. They are amongst the lucky ones, at least, to have had someone like Lup or Raven to lean their trust on.

Kravitz had half-feared Taako would inject only heavy flirting and innuendos into their conversation, but as they relax into the atmosphere of the night and each other’s company, he is earnest and engaging. After they’ve finished eating, Taako eyes him over the rim of his wine glass before taking a sip. Kravitz parts his lips to make a comment about the orchestral background music when Taako says, “ _ My _ restaurant was nothing like this.”

“No?” Kravitz blinks at him, taken by surprise. “What was it like?”

“Stunning. Gorgeous. Imagine the… the fanciest restaurants in Paris-- it was fancier. All the glitz and glamour in Hollywood? Nothing. A load of shit compared to my restaurant.” Taako sets his wine down and motions to the waiter for their check.

Kravitz smiles. “I would like to see pictures, if you have any. And I’d love to try your cooking.”

“Yeah I bet you would,” Taako says, but the words ring hollow with melancholy or bitterness - Kravitz can’t quite tell which. “That's a pretty exclusive privilege, darling, you'll have to do a lot more than one nice date.”

“So it's been nice, then.” Kravitz beams at having received approval for their evening so far, skirting around the resounding rejection of his interest in Taako’s cooking.

Taako snorts. “Well, the company is  _ definitely _ a big improvement from the bozos I usually have to put up with.” They decline the waiter’s offer for dessert menus, and Kravitz pays, which Taako doesn’t protest. When they exit, Kravitz offers his elbow; Taako bites his bottom lip like he’s trying to restrain the grin that stretches across his cheeks and loops his hand around Kravitz’s arm. With the way Taako looks up at him, close at his side, Kravitz wishes he’d parked much farther away.

But as it is, Taako separates from him all too soon to slide into the car on the passenger side. “How are sales doing, by the by?”

“Decently, not quite where we’d like them to be.” Kravitz pauses, weighing options in his mind. “I mean, I wasn’t going to ask about it tonight, in the interest of separating business and pleasure and all that, but since you bring it up… I was hoping to ask you and the club for a favor.”

“My business  _ is _ pleasure.” Sultry smile in place, Taako cocks his head and leans back in his seat. “Whatcha need?”

Kravitz takes a breath. “We need to get the word out in a pretty specific market. Our marketing tactics need to suit that. So what if we hosted a party at the Starblaster? Invite other drag performers and crossdressers and other influential members of the community, Innocent Soles will sponsor everything, we’ll give all your performers our boots. Maybe even with some new designs that we can put on preorder.”

“Damn.” Taako breathes, smug expression dropping to expose his piqued interest. “Like a fashion show. I gotta say, I... really dig that.”

“I thought you would.” Nothing seems more up Taako’s alley than hosting a fashion show and party that highlights a product he designed and is invested in. “Who should I meet with to figure out logistics? Can you help me set something up?”

“Probably Lucretia. She’s the GM, a little more hands-on than Davenport, the owner. I’ll hook you up, leave it to Taako.” Themes, guest lists, and music choices fill the rest of the ride back to where Kravitz had picked up Taako, and by the time they pull up to the curb Kravitz knows he's entrusted the right person to the task. Not that he'd ever doubt it; Taako is a good person, hidden behind defensive walls of contrariness and sarcasm.

Kravitz leans over to kiss Taako, who accepts the gentle brush of lips before tilting his head to chase it with a slow simmering heat. Kravitz shuts his eyes to better taste the lip balm sweetness of Taako’s lips and tongue.

A click breaks Kravitz’s focus, but as he's still registering the sound was Taako releasing his seatbelt, the latter is already halfway over the console to get into Kravitz’s lap. “Oh.”

“Hi.” Taako grins crookedly down at him, warmth rolling off his body against Kravitz.

“Hey,” Kravitz answers, decidedly more strangled than Taako’s greeting. It doesn't matter; Taako cups his jaw in both hands and seals their lips together once more. The kiss is deep and unhurried, a long unwinding of the tensions and conflicts between them until nothing is left but two lonely souls raw and exposed. Taako burns, rapturous, seeping down into Kravitz’s core and filling him with a warmth Kravitz hasn’t experienced in years; all the what-could-have-beens and if-it-was-meant-to-be’s that have dominated Kravitz’s love life melt away, forgotten. All that matters, all that exists, is Taako in his lap, Taako leaving him breathless, like he had from the moment Kravitz saw him.

When Taako finally eases away, leaning his forehead against Kravitz’s, they both pause to catch their breath, soft huffs mingling together. Taako’s long fingers had buried themselves at some point in Kravitz’s hair, and Kravitz’s arms are circled around Taako’s waist.

“Well,” Kravitz says, but he has nothing to follow it up with. One of Taako’s hands drops from over his shoulder to skirt down his sternum so he can crook down and nuzzle Kravitz’s neck. Kravitz’s newly-caught breath hitches in his throat with the tender lips brushing his pulse.

“Do you want to come inside?” Taako whispers to his jugular vein.

The pressure to amuse Taako with a joke overwhelms him before he has anything good, so he just says, “That’s what she said.” Taako snickers and jabs his ribs with a finger. Kravitz laughs. “Really, though, that… probably isn’t a good idea right now. I should go.”

Taako sits back up to shrug, unquestioning. “Okay. Then I guess I'll see you later.”

“Yeah. Text me about your manager.” Getting Taako out of the car takes some doing - they have to push the seat back, and Kravitz holds Taako’s elbow to balance him as he clambers down from Kravitz’s lap to the pavement. In spite of himself, Kravitz feels a burst of smug satisfaction at the deep flush in Taako’s face and the way he stands to disguise the half-interest in his jumpsuit.

He leans in for a final, parting kiss before skipping up onto the sidewalk and heading down the road. Kravitz pulls his car away from the curb, but idles at an intersection so he can watch Taako reach a small house around the corner and slip indoors. Content that he’d made it safe, Kravitz makes his own way back home, giddy and warmer than he’d been in a long time.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> note the rating change - sexual content in this one folks ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

The club looks harshly skeletal with all the lights on and the floor empty of an audience, the bare lifeless bones of something that could be spectacular. Even with Taako greeting him at the door and leading him in, Kravitz feels the pressure of the open space bear down on him, unwelcoming.

Once the ball began to roll, it picked up speed at an unbelievable pace. Their first responsibility, picking a date, landed them with the realization that they couldn’t afford to postpone for too long, and in the next month only the following Friday would lend itself to both Kravitz’s and the club’s schedules. So they had less than two weeks to prepare, and Kravitz would have to squeeze a great deal of money from his budget and personal finances, as well as spending every spare moment planning with Taako. The latter, at least, eased some of his pressing anxiety about the former.

Perfectly at home, Taako hops up the steps tucked against one side of the stage so he can stride out onto the runway and look down his nose at Kravitz with a smarmy grin. Kravitz hadn’t gotten so close to the stage before; the runway reaches midway up his chest. He sports a bright green tunic, hugged around his waist with a thick belt, floral leggings, and hot pink combat boots. If nothing else can be said of him, he is always eye-catching. “So this is basically a  _ launch  _ party, right? And our shoes are out of this world?” Taako waggles his eyebrows. “See where I’m going?”

“I think I got it.” Kravitz’s voice is dry with humor, “Your club is already space-themed, Taako.”

“Yeah, ‘cause it’s dope as hell. So we’re going to lean into it, just really go wild with costumes and glitter and shit.”

Kravitz nods. Whatever theme Taako had chosen, he’d expected nothing less than “going wild.” “How many people can you guys get in here?” He sweeps an arm around to indicate the room.

“We’ve gotten over a hundred before, I believe.” A low, steady voice breaks in, echoing down from the ceiling like the club itself has spoken. Kravitz spins around; a tall, poised woman makes her way down the balcony stairs. Kravitz battles the impulse to bow in her presence and settles for a far more normal handshake once she’s come within reach. Her grip is brief but firm. “Nice to finally meet you, Kravitz. I’m Lucretia.”

They’d spoken briefly over the phone a couple times, but Taako’s reluctance for them to connect in person thwarted them successfully until now. “A pleasure.” He scans his gaze around the room. “Well, our preliminary guest list is just under 60, so I don’t think we have to worry about too many people. I really appreciate you letting us do this.”

“Of course,” she says, her tone weighted with reluctance. “But there are going to be some ground rules. For starters, no animals, no open flames, and I want to inspect any buckets or bags of glitter.”

Baffled, Kravitz says, “That shouldn’t be a problem,” at the same time Taako groans, “Oh,  _ fine _ .” Kravitz looks over his shoulder to raise his eyebrows at him in what he hopes is a stern expression. Lucretia’s reservations suddenly make a lot more sense. Addressing Lucretia again, he says, “I promise it will just be a normal, totally safe event. I’ll make sure of it.”

“Thank god.” Lucretia’s eyes warm and her voice relaxes upon that promise. “In that case, we’re happy to help. We’ve all heard an awful lot about you.” She folds her hands together in front of herself. “Now I have to get going, but feel free to come by before open any time you need to. Let Taako know if you have any questions for me.” As abruptly as she appeared, Lucretia walks away, pulling out a phone before she vanishes into the back.

Kravitz blinks and turns up to Taako. “Is she always that…”

“Stuffy? Badly dressed?”

“I was going to say mysterious.”

Taako snickers. “Yeah, it’s kind of her schtick. Come on, I’ll show you some of the costume ideas Lup and I put together last night.” He hops down from the stage and takes Kravitz’s hand. They delve backstage and into the green room, where sure enough outfits in a variety of dark and jewel tones hang on a rack, drape over a long sofa, and pile discarded in one corner.

Kravitz pulls a jumpsuit with a galaxy print off the rack. “Why didn’t you want me to meet her? She seems reasonable enough.”

The furrow of Taako’s brow and set of his shoulders tell Kravitz he didn’t think Kravitz had noticed the way he scrambled for excuses whenever a face-to-face meeting came up. “Well… I don’t know, just... “ he sighs, frustrated, “She’s my boss, you know, and like… It’s kind of a downer for you to get friendly with my boring ass boss. That makes this so… so fucking  _ normcore _ .” He fetches a feather boa from the floor and holds it up to a shimmery gown, testing the combination, before simply wrapping the boa around his neck. “Plus she’s got crazy perception, it’s spooky, and she would definitely be able to blow our cover if she got the chance, for sure.”

Kravitz mulls over that. He hadn’t considered their relationship in terms of normalcy; truth be told, the reality itself still blew him away, he couldn’t grapple with the concept that dating Taako under any circumstances could ever be as dull as Taako makes it sound. Was it dull or bad, to find a normal of them being together? If they settled into something that Taako would deem too “normcore,” as he put it, would it lose his interest?

The clothing Taako holds up in front of him demands his focus shift back to the present. He shakes off the concerns so they can pick out the best and the most suitable outfits to complement their boots, review new footwear designs, and review Kravitz’s guest lists. He would have sworn his life on only fifteen minutes passing, but as they discuss the benefits of naming a select few VIPs, the rumble of activity catches in Kravitz’s ears.

He tunes into the beat of music and the hum of low chatter - business upstairs is gathering momentum. Checking the time on his phone makes him cringe. “It’s getting late.” Taako hums in acknowledgement, looking up only once Kravitz rises from his seat on the floor.

“Want to grab something to eat? Lup makes some mean sliders.” Taako climbs to his feet and hovers like a flighty bird around Kravitz, who gathers his coat from where he’d tossed it over a chair when he was making himself comfortable.

“That’s very tempting, but maybe another night.” They make their way to the back door as Kravitz pushes his hands through his sleeves. “I’ll stay for the show soon, I promise.”

Taako nudges him with an elbow. “Only really worth it when I’m up there, huh?” Kravitz just laughs so he doesn’t have to admit how close to the truth he is. He’s never been fond of these loud, crowded clubs, but watching Taako strut and show off, glowing like an angel atop the stage, enraptures Kravitz so much that the thump of bass against his temples and the heat of too many moving bodies melt into the background.

Opening the back door ushers in a burst of chill that hits Kravitz like a punch in the face. He takes a step back, grimacing against the cold, and a few stray snowflakes chase in after him.

“Damn, it’s really coming down now.” Taako leans around Kravitz to stick his arm out the doorway, flakes alighting on his fingertips. Kravitz scoffs and puts on his gloves. He should have come better prepared, with a scarf or at least a hat. The forecast promised cloudless skies, but he knew better. “Hey, you okay?”

“I’ll be fine.” Kravitz burrows his hands in his pockets, tucking his arms close to his sides as a bulwark against the chill. “It’s a… condition. The cold just gets to me really easily.” Taako eyes him with concerned curiosity and joins him on the walk back to his car. His nose already stings, each inhale burning up his nostrils. Winter chases a weak and pale sun down beneath the horizon ever quicker.

When Kravitz fumbles with his keys, Taako cocks his hip and places his hand on the car door to hold it shut, but then immediately recoils. “Oh, shit that’s freezing. But hey, are you sure you’re good to drive?” He folds his arms across his chest. “The way your hands are shaking, I’m not so sold on you handling a steering wheel.”

Kravitz purses his lips and looks down at his hands. “I’ll be fine once the heating in the car kicks in,” he says, but under the weight of Taako’s stare his reassurance sounds weak in his own ears.

“Nah, I don’t think so. Just let me drive you home.” Before Kravitz can stop him, Taako snatches his keys from his hand.

“And how will you get home?” Kravitz insists, but he’s already circling around the hood to the passenger side. There’s not much he can do with Taako in possession of the car key.

Taako slides into the seat and shrugs. “I don’t know, if only there was a service where I could pay someone to drive me wherever I want to go. Oh wait, there’s like fifty of those.” He fiddles with knobs and buttons until air starts to blow through the vents. Kravitz directs the vents away from himself until the air has had a few minutes to warm up.

At least his apartment is about a mile away from the club when driving, so he only has to guide Taako down a few streets before they make it into the carport behind Kravitz’s building. Kravitz manages to reclaim his keychain to unlock the door into the stairwell and, once they climb the three flights of stairs, his front door. The encroaching winter still clamps around his limbs, seeping down into his bones. “Make yourself at home while you wait for your cab, there’s drinks in the top left cupboard,” he says as he sheds his coat, boots, and gloves, uncovered for only a moment as he crosses the foyer into his living room. 

Turning up the thermostat is his first order of business -- a challenge considering how numb his fingers are, but he manages, then he hunkers down on the couch and cocoons the throw blanket around himself. He curates his apartment like a museum of his life, romanticized and displayed, more than a home. With no confident taste in interior decor, warm gray walls, glossy wood, and the comfortable highlights of his own life have gotten him this far, even if it makes the apartment look like the slideshow of his own wake.

Taako takes his instructions to heart, clattering around in the kitchen for a few minutes while Kravitz trembles heat back into his bones. When Taako finally reemerges, he carries with him not one mug but two. “Here.” He holds one out to Kravitz. “For Christ’s sake, drink this.”

Kravitz nearly drops the mug it’s so hot, but he readjusts his grip and peers into it. Steam carries the rich aroma of chocolate into his nose; he breathes it in and sighs. “Thanks.”

Taako, easing down next to him and cuddling up to his side, just looks at him with eyebrows raised, unimpressed. “No sweat. You looked like you were going to freeze solid.”

“The cold really gets to me,” he repeats, lamely, then falls silent. Feeling returns to his fingers after a few minutes clasped around the mug, and only then he sips at the cocoa. It’s thick and too sweet and deliciously warm. He can feel it travel all the way down his throat and settle into his belly. Between that and Taako’s body, huddled none too discreetly against him, he feels far better in no time. “My blood doesn’t flow very well, there’s not a lot I can do about it except try to stay warm.” He swallows. “Thank you for helping me.”

Taako stands back up and circles behind the back of the couch; Kravitz listens to the slow shift of his weight on the old floorboards as he dawdles by the bookshelves against the wall. “I told you, don’t worry about it. I’d rather not date a popsicle.” A papery whisper, as Taako must pull a book off the shelf and examine it for a second before sliding it back into place. Kravitz twists to look over his shoulder.

Taako’s fingertips glide over the old books of music theory and composition and the binders of sheet music, head tilted to try to read the vertical titles. The bright curious gaze slides past them to a shelf of knick knacks and personal memorabilia, including a weathered photo of Raven with Kravitz propped up between a carved jade cat and a cypress bonsai.

The blanket falls into a heap on the couch when Kravitz rises and joins Taako, standing in front of him. They don’t speak; they don’t need to. Taako smiles at him, and Kravitz captures his exploratory hand, and they meet in the middle.

They kiss gently, not shy but careful, easing together until they find themselves in the same place. Taako’s free hand tugs Kravitz’s lapel as he pulls back to whisper against Kravitz’s mouth, “Show me where your bedroom is.”

The heat that flushes through Kravitz’s stomach makes him forget that the cold was ever a problem. “What about your cab?” he teases, nudging Taako back. Rather than parting from him, Taako shuffles backward, pulling Kravitz along with him. Kravitz chuckles under his breath.

“Oh, yeah I uh. I never called it.” Taako shrugs one shoulder, shame nowhere to be found in his gleaming eyes. “I wanted to stick around and make sure a certain dummy got himself feeling better.”

Kravitz snorts and leans in for another kiss, which is mostly teeth with the way they’re both grinning. They make it all the way to the corner of the living room that leads into the hall by shuffling together, then Kravitz breaks away to make it halfway down and into his room in three quick strides, Taako’s hand still gripping tight onto his.

Kravitz’s bedroom is small but warm, made cozier by muted gold walls and a wide bed piled with bronze and maroon pillows. Taako sweeps his gaze around, catching on a couple stray pieces of jewelry on the dresser and the slightly ajar bathroom door like he wants to further his investigation of Kravitz’s home, but Kravitz isn’t going to afford him that luxury right now. He turns to face Taako, framing his face in his hands, and kisses him deeply.

Taako melts into him, pliant lips parting and hands finding purchase against Kravitz. Kravitz’s breath hitches at the solidity of their hips colliding together. Taako all but pushes him down onto the bed, crawling onto him and boxing him in place with his hands and knees. “Warm enough yet?” he murmurs with a smirk. Kravitz barely has the breath left to giggle.

Then, before he can blink, Taako is off him. Kravitz props himself up on his elbows with a confused frown. “Is something wrong?”

“Oh, something’s wrong, all right. Scoot up more.” Kravitz obeys, maneuvering closer to the center of the bed and straightening out. Taako observes him for a moment before, evidently, deciding it would suffice. He hoists himself back up onto the mattress, staying upright on his knees as he straddles Kravitz’s hips.

As they gravitate back to caresses and soft breaths between kisses, Taako’s body hovers above Kravitz, present but ephemeral, so close yet too far away. He shifts his hands from around Taako's neck to circle around his back and pull him down; Taako resists with a chuckle, waiting until Kravitz has stopped pressing to lower his weight down. Kravitz sighs at the grounding pressure of him, the radiant warmth, the fit of their bodies together.

“Needy, aren't you? I knew you would be,” Taako murmurs between kisses. Kravitz is too busy tasting the hot pulse of his neck to respond. He feels Taako swallow beneath his lower lip. “What do you want tonight?”

That draws Kravitz away from Taako's neck, wetting his lips as he looks at Taako and considers. “I want a lot of things with you.” His voice rasps against his throat, reluctant to make the admission. “But for tonight, I… I just want to watch you enjoy yourself.”

Thin eyebrows rise, but Taako's smile isn't mocking. “Oh, I think I'll be doing that no matter what. But if you want to pamper ol’ Taako, I won't argue.” He sits back, weight resting more on Kravitz’s knees than his hips, so once he removes the belt Kravitz can hitch his hands beneath the hem of his tunic and draw it up with slow deliberation.

He's already seen Taako in various states of undress; Taako is not shy, and Kravitz winds up holding private audience in his dressing room an inordinate amount, even before they began their secret rendezvous. But this particular circumstance is a first, and it is sacred - trust and vulnerability shroud them in an intimacy that Kravitz wouldn’t dare break. Taako’s skin under his palms may as well be precious china.

When Taako takes over to tug his tunic past his shoulders and head, Kravitz leans back to revel in the sight of him. Freckles dot his skin, sparse and light enough to be easy to miss, and when Kravitz sits up enough to press his nose and lips up to Taako’s chest, the sharp herbal smell of something like lavender lingers like it’s soaked into his very being. He just breathes, worshipping him, drawing his smell into his innermost being.

“Kravitz?” Taako's voice pulls him from his reverie. He smiles at Taako and kisses him to assure him all is well. Taako grabs and pushes at his lapels pointedly, and Kravitz takes the hint. He shrugs out of his jacket, then sheds his tie and shirt. He will fuss about wrinkles later, but with Taako laying a hand flat against his abdomen and following the lines of his body, tossing clothes aside is all he has the presence of mind for.

Sidetracked by every exposed new facet of each other as they are, the remainder of the clothing between them comes off in hurried bursts of separation between stretches of exploring and fondling. Kravitz carves a trail down Taako’s stomach with his tongue and swallows around him as he breathes heavily. Taako only puts up with it for a moment or two before wrestling Kravitz back into place beneath him.

“If you tell me you don't have lube within reach of this bed, you're  _ really _ going to need a hearse,” Taako says, undercutting his own threat by reaching down for another kiss. Guided by Kravitz’s gesturing, he digs the bottle and a condom out of the bedside drawer.

Situating themselves proves awkward, but Kravitz endures it for the little giggles Taako makes whenever he stammers or blushes and for his sigh as he holds Kravitz still and sinks into place. Kravitz swallows, hands finding their way to Taako's waist, and Taako leans in to draw him into a thorough kiss as he rolls his hips.

Any other day, Kravitz would delight in letting Taako have his way, bending and molding Kravitz to his will. But he has been Taako’s audience for so long, taking a back seat and admiring his performances whether he was on or off the stage. He wants Taako to be the one to sit back and enjoy. “Hang on,” he whispers, pressing a hand to Taako’s chest. Taako stills. One arm snakes around Taako's middle, holding him steady against Kravitz to ease them both back horizontal.

“How’s this?” Kravitz asks as he readjusts and slides their hips back together, “Okay?”

“Oh yeah, I’m good.” Taako lifts one leg to Kravitz’s hip and hooks it behind his thigh. Kravitz nuzzles the hair beginning to stick to the side of Taako’s neck. The combination of his lavender perfume and sweat is warm and earthy, and visceral affection swells in Kravitz’s chest. He plants his hands on both sides of Taako to find better leverage. Taako’s sighs and gasps and whispers in his ear make Kravitz shiver, blood vibrating with Taako’s sweet tenor.

Taako arches, lifting his hips off the bed in time with Kravitz to draw him in closer. Kravitz bows. Taako always undoes him in the smallest and most effortless ways, wriggling into the core of his being and pushing him off balance with that lazy smile, and Kravitz is all too eager to suspend himself over a cliff edge for Taako's entertainment. He hangs in midair before breaking and tumbling headlong with a reedy groan muffled in Taako’s neck. Even as his nerves settle from the last shudder of his orgasm, he is still plummeting toward a vast unknown. Perhaps he has been for a long time.

A grunt from beneath him draws his attention; Taako squirms impatiently to snake his arm down between them. Kravitz rights himself and offers Taako his fingers to grind and gasp onto, stroking into his own hand, until his toes curl and his lips part with a noise that doesn't make it out of his throat. Never in all his days will Kravitz forget the sight of Taako so unflinchingly raw.

Kravitz grabs a handcloth from the bathroom and wipes himself down before handing it over to Taako, curling on his side while Taako cleans off and tosses it into the heap of their clothes. A sedated peace settles like a blanket over them. The first time with someone has never been the best of sex, but Kravitz relishes in the shared vulnerability, and in the self-conscious and tender explorations, seeking what touches will elicit the softest sighs and what signs they will let slip to betray their eagerness. He reaches for Taako’s hand, and Taako opens it to receive him, fingers interlocking together and resting between them.

“Won’t your housemates notice if you don’t come home tonight?” Kravitz watches Taako crack an eye open to look at him, then with an exasperated groan rolls over and fumbles halfway off the bed to rifle through their mess and find his phone.

He types briefly, then tosses the phone right back to the floor. “There, I told them I won’t be home. They know the drill.”

A smile tugs at Kravitz’s lips, but he schools it for a more somber expression. “Do you really stay out that often? Should I be worried about… others?”

Taako scoffs. “What are you going to do about it?”

“I’m prepared to do anything. I’ll fend them off with a stick if I have to.” Kravitz encircles Taako’s middle with one arm, bearing over him and kissing his neck. “What about Klarg?”

Taako’s surprised bark of laughter may be due to the question, but could also have to do with Kravitz’s fingertips now digging into his side. “Klarg was never anything and it was a long time ago. Stop, you  _ ass _ ! I’m not fucking ticklish!”

“Sure you’re not,” Kravitz snorts, tormenting a shriek of giggles from Taako before easing back. “Promise you’d tell me if you were seeing someone else.”

“Fuck! No, does it really matter?” Taako shoves his shoulder, just a fraction too hard to be playful, and Kravitz eases back. His face must look hangdog enough for Taako to sigh and tangle their hands back together. “Okay, look, I promise. There’s no one else.”

“Thank you,” Kravitz says, genuinely serious now. The nagging sensitivity to Taako’s whimsical nature roots itself in the back of his mind with the smallest seed -- will Taako lose interest if they find a “normal?” But Kravitz can’t outright ask him that, so he will have to settle for more immediate reassurances that Taako takes this as seriously as he does.

Taako rolls his eyes and squirms closer, folding himself into the space against Kravitz’s body. “Dude, trust me, okay? I’m here for this.”

Kravitz just sighs, nods, and tilts his head to tuck his chin over Taako’s head. “Right,” he murmurs. For now, that will have to be enough; Taako driving him home, Taako here right now smelling warm and solid. He can be happy with just this. He listens to Taako’s breath even out before drifting off himself.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this took so long, folks ;;;;;;

Kravitz's apartment is not accustomed to visitors. When Taako joins him in the kitchen making coffee in his boxers and undershirt, they must weave and reach around each other so Taako can mix together pancake batter. As the coffee maker grumbles and hisses through percolating, Kravitz snakes his arms around Taako and holds him captive against his chest. Taako tries to elbow him with his spatula-wielding hand. “Do you mind?”

“Sorry, there's just not enough space for two people in this kitchen,” Kravitz says into his hair, twisting to avoid another stab of elbow. “We just have to make do.” Taako scoffs but lets him cuddle as the pancakes sizzle. He shows off how high he can flip them with the pan, to which Kravitz challenges ever greater heights. Their game comes to an end only when Taako has to lurch to the left to catch one he’d flipped three feet, almost falling onto the burner. “All right, you win,” Kravitz allows, holding Taako close like he might lose his balance again.

“Of course I do.” Taako plops the last pancake onto one of the plated stacks, flicking his hair in triumph.

Kravitz doesn't have maple syrup, but they smother their pancakes with butter and jam and powdered sugar, and they eat and drink coffee leaning against the countertop. “I should get ready for work pretty soon. Want me to drop you off at home or the club?”

Taako shrugs and smears a chunk of pancake through a puddle of raspberry juice. “Home, I guess. I'm gonna have to deal with the third degree sooner or later.”

The bump of Kravitz’s hip against Taako’s must console him, judging by the flash of a wry smile across his face. “How long have you lived with your housemates?” Taako certainly seems to have known them for a while, his derision for them always twinged with soft familiarity. Kravitz wonders if Taako will ever affect such a disguised fondness when talking about him. He rinses gluey sugar-and-butter off his plate and abandons his dishes in the sink. Taako's clatter onto the pile shortly after.

“'Bout two years now, I guess.” He wipes his hands on the sides of his leggings, the same from the night before. None of Kravitz’s clothes fit him well enough to be worth loaning. “When things with the restaurant didn't work out, they were there to… help me find a new direction.”

Kravitz knows sharing isn't Taako's style, so that answer satisfies his interest and he doesn't press for more. Taking his hand and giving it a brief squeeze is his only response before they head back to the bathroom.

The water takes a couple minutes and several adjustments to the knobs before it’s a suitable temperature. Kravitz’s bathroom is humble, perfect for a bachelor with a few more skincare products than the average man but just barely too small for two people at once, and the combination of bathtub and shower makes the space long but narrow. Kravitz steps under the spray first and takes a step back to give Taako room.

Taako drags him into a searing kiss, but once Kravitz leans down to meet him water runs down from his hairline into his face. He sputters and jerks back; Taako breaks down snickering. “Oh, shut up,” Kravitz snorts, wiping water out of his eyes.

Clearly shameless, Taako grins up at him and reaches up to push one of his dreads away from his face. His elbow bumps against the wall as he does. “I don’t think messing around in here is going to work out so well,” he points out.

“Probably not.” Kravitz reaches over Taako’s head for the soap in the caddy hanging from the shower head. Taako turns around to consider Kravitz’s shampoo, turning it over in his hands to read the labels, before deciding it will suffice and squeezing a dollop of it into his palm. They have to shuffle around each other to share the spray, Taako leaning away while he’s massaging shampoo against his scalp so Kravitz can rinse suds off his shoulders.

“So what’s on the agenda today, boss?” Taako scrubs lather out of his hair. “I should be able to whip up the last few boots today. Maybe if you swing by the club tonight, you’ll be able to grab ‘em.”

Kravitz chuckles. “I’ll keep that in mind.” He slides his hands to Taako’s waist, kisses the hinge of his jaw, and murmurs, “Let’s not talk about work.” With another soft kiss, he draws back again to lift his hands up to the curve of Taako’s back, an angle Kravitz has yet to familiarize himself with. There’s something more vulnerable about this than seeing him from the front for sex, more nonchalant and trusting. Taako glances back at him with a quirk of his lips before gathering his hair over his shoulder to work conditioner into it. The soapy water makes his skin gleam, and Kravitz finds a beauty mark just under his right shoulder blade. He thumbs over it affectionately before rubbing his shoulders and following the groove of his spine down to his lower back.

“All right, you’ve convinced me, no work talk.” Taako’s words melt together in a warm, content slur. Pleased with the results of his attention, Kravitz massages soap from his skin and helps rinse the conditioner from his hair, fingers combing through the silken locks. They may not have gotten a chance to have sex, but the sensation of his soft hair, the half-lidded expression of satisfaction on Taako’s face, the relaxed slope of his shoulders, are more than enough to please Kravitz. He squeezes his arms around Taako’s middle one final time before Taako twists the knob to shut off the water and they step out.

He keeps clean towels folded and stowed on top of the medicine cabinet, which he gets down for Taako after wrapping the one on the towel rack around his own waist. “Gonna help me dry off, too?” Taako rolls his hips with a shit-eating grin.

Kravitz snorts and slaps his ass. “You’ve still got to do some things yourself. I don’t want you getting lazy.” Taako chokes on laughter.

Kravitz unburies a hair dryer he hasn’t used in years for Taako to borrow and then pads still dripping into the bedroom to get dressed. He puts on fitted slacks and a charcoal pinstriped shirt; Taako, hair collected into a braid down his back, joins him while he ponders over his tie selection. “Go with this.” He plucks out one in deep crimson with a black-thread pattern flowering up from the bottom. “Warm tones suit you.”

“Oh do they?” Kravitz asks with a raise of his eyebrows, but he takes the choice and wraps it around his neck.

Taako pats his chest in approval before stealing away to dress himself. Kravitz knows he’ll be late by the time he arrives at the office, but the concern doesn’t linger, finding no purchase in his distracted thoughts. At least they manage to get out the front door and pile into the hearse no more than half an hour behind Kravitz’s typical routine.

The typical routine involves far less playful ribbing and fewer kisses, anyway, which are welcome additions. Such close companionship, sexual or otherwise, only appears once in a blue moon in Kravitz’s life, his obsessive work habits and nervous, excitable disposition driving away a fair share of friends and lovers. So much so he’d let himself forget what it was like to thrive in the company of another person, to find a soul so complementary as to fill out his gaps and soften his torn edges. They reach across the gear stick to share a comfortable, loose-fingered anchor together. Taako’s hand in his feels like molding and being molded, discreetly making themselves fit around each other.

His phone rings before they’ve gotten more than a couple miles down the road. He glances at the caller ID, draws his hand out of Taako’s to shush him with a finger to his lips, and answers. “Good morning, Raven.”

“Morning, yourself.” Her voice drawls thick with sleep in his ear. “How’s it going?”

“Fine.” He locks his gaze forward to avoid meeting Taako’s curious expression, which he can feel drilling into the side of his head. His good mood compacts into a tight ball in his stomach. “What’s up?”

She either sighs or yawns before answering, “Just wanted to let you know my connection got changed, I’ll be coming in on an earlier flight. Friday morning instead of Saturday. Can you still pick me up?”

The party is Friday. Math in his head rarely works out, but nonetheless time zones buzz around as he tries to figure out how much jet lag she’ll be feeling. Maybe she won’t have the energy to pay it any mind. “Yeah, no problem. Just text me the flight number and I’ll see you there.”

He hopes to cut the conversation there, but Raven has other ideas. “Great. So how is work?”

“It’s all right. Nothing to report, really.” No, there’s no way he can keep everything secret once she’s returned. Even if he tried, she’d guess something was up with one look at his face. She’s always possessed an uncanny sense for things like that, especially with him. His teenage years had been hell. “Uh. Well. I mean, we’re… testing the waters for a couple new designs, actually.”

Raven makes a surprised little “huh.” “What kind of designs? Are they from Charles?”

This time, his eyes flick toward Taako before he can stop them; an intense but unreadable stare meets him. “No, it’s a uh, a new designer I found. It’s just… something new I’m trying. I’ll tell you more about it when I see you in a couple days, okay?”

She chuckles. It gives him the unsettling feeling that she knows more than he’s told her. “Well, if you say so. See you, Kravitz.”

“Bye, Raven.” He hangs up and exhales.

“That was Raven, huh?” Taako doesn’t give him a moment to settle his thoughts before pouncing. “You could tell her more about me, you know. Without spoiling our little secret.”

“Maybe,” Kravitz hedges. In an abstract sense, he’d known that Taako’s and Raven’s circles intersect at him, that he’s made it inevitable for them to cross paths. But he hasn’t prepared for it, hasn’t constructed the right conditions to let it happen. He thought he still had time to figure it out, but Raven has breached the expanse of space that has been protecting him. He stretches back into the reaches of his memory, trying to recollect how much he’d even told Taako about Raven. He’d mentioned her by name at some point, clearly, but beyond that much what does Taako know?

His own peeks into Taako’s personal life were just as accidental, stumbling into meetings with his sister and skirting around his housemates. The lines between personal and professional were always a bit fuzzy at best, but control of their whole situation is slipping through his fingers faster the tighter he tries to cling to it. It sends his heart jittering off rhythm just to think about.

“Yeah, maybe. Don’t let me stop you.” Taako studies Kravitz for a moment longer before he sits back, letting his gaze drift out the window. His tone is heavy with implication, but Kravitz can’t decipher what lies behind it, so he lets it go.

They ride in silence the rest of the way, swallowed up in their own thoughts until Kravitz pulls up to their usual curb just around the corner from Taako’s house. Taako leans over to kiss him before unclicking his seatbelt and slipping out. “I’ll come by the club tonight,” Kravitz promises as Taako gets out onto the sidewalk.

“Great.” Taako shoots him a grin. “See you later.” He spins on his heel and heads up the street, disappearing around the corner. Kravitz sucks in a deep breath and adjusts his grip on the steering wheel before making his way toward Innocent Soles.

His mind whirls in useless circles for the next fifteen minutes until he reaches the factory, once driving no longer consumes his immediate attention, where he can stop and breathe in the confined safety of his car. Kravitz rubs his temples. With Raven at a distance, he fooled himself into a sense of control, but his focus had been too narrow. He’d barely even thought about how Raven would react, to both the new line and to Taako. Kravitz presses his hands together in front of his face and takes a deep breath.

So Raven will be here soon. That was always coming. He knows her, knows how he can make his new direction persuasive to her. He’ll gather the numbers to prove they’re already off to a promising start, and prepare details about how they’ll be able to maintain their momentum and expand further. As for Taako… well, he will arrange for how to introduce them to each other too.

He needs to focus on making sure he can persuade Raven this is the best direction for the company, and once the dust has settled and the business’s future stabilizes, he can dedicate more time to what he has with Taako. Not now, but soon. He vows it to himself. They’ll have more time soon.

If only his life would remain so simple. Seconds after he crosses the threshold of the factory, Killian shows up at his elbow. Her heavy brow furrows low over her face with concern. “We’ve got a problem, boss.”

 “What kind of problem?” He halts in his tracks and falls into step behind her before she’s even answered.

“One of the sewing machines is busted. I just called the repair guy, but he might not make it out here this week.” She waves her hand at the machine in question, where a gangly young man still fiddles with the intricate needle mechanism. Gerald, if Kravitz remembers right. If something came loose within the needle’s housing, it could cause any number of jams or breaks that are too small and particular for the layman to rig back into place. “We’re going to fall behind pretty quick at this rate, we’ll barely make what we need for the shindig.”

“But you can do it?” He eyes the machine before looking up at her.

She worries her bottom lip between her teeth. “I think so. We’re only adding three more new designs to the queue, right?”

Kravitz nods. “He’s getting them to me tonight. We only need the one display pair on each of those.”

“Then we should be okay, as long as they’re nothing too elaborate.”

Elaborate is the name of Taako’s game more often than not, but he would have to have one or two Kravitz could choose that would be on the simpler side. He presses his lips in a grim line and nods again. “All right. I'll make sure.”

When even a small crack appears, it can weaken the entire machine and could cause everything to crumble - it's true of the factory's workflow just as much as it is for the equipment itself. He can’t let this single road bump spread disruption to the rest of the factory. “Gerald, please. You’re going to break it more or hurt yourself if you keep messing with it.” Gerald glances at him with his face contorted with worry but releases the broken machine and steps away from it. Kravitz knows how he feels; standing back and doing nothing isn’t his forte either. “Things are going to get backlogged soon. Can you help make sure the unsewn shoes don’t just pile up? Maybe find somewhere to store them in the meantime. Keep things moving as much as you can.”

Gerald leaps to action, scurrying off to find spare storage bins or an unused corner. Kravitz resorts to hovering around the factory floor, pacing along past the sewing to where the leather is stamped, then to shaping, assembling, polishing, and then back to the beginning until the phone rings, shrill enough to carry through the whole factory. The cradle hangs near the stairs, and either by chance of being closer or simply having a longer stride Killian reaches it before him. She answers just as he comes within reach, pauses, and says, “Yeah, thanks for getting back to us so fast.” Definitely the repair service.

Kravitz makes a grabby motion until she hands over the phone with a roll of her eyes. “Do you know when you’ll be able to send someone?” he asks without preamble.

“Oh. Uh.” The nasally voice on the other end clears their throat. “Like I was just about to tell Killian, it’s probably going to be Thursday, our techs are both booked with scheduled repairs today and tomorrow. Would Thursday morning work, between 9 and noon?”

Kravitz grimaces and mouths “Thursday” to Killian. She mirrors his expression, but shrugs. “Yeah, fine. The earlier the better on Thursday.”

“Of course. Sorry, Kravitz.” He hangs up, and Kravitz places the phone back in the wall cradle.

“Shit,” he sighs.

Killian puts her hand on his shoulder. The gesture of consolation surprises him, but the strength of her squeeze does not. “We’ll make do,” she assures him. “We just gotta keep going, it’ll be fine.” She squeezes again – he doesn’t wince this time – and lets go, face schooling into something stern. “Now get out of here. You’ve been a distraction and a nuisance all morning.”

“I’m your boss,” he points out with a frown.

“Yeah, and you made me floor supervisor, so get.”

He chuckles in spite of himself and leaves. He knows there’s no reason for him to be on the floor anymore, it’s obvious even to him that he is useless in this space. The team knows what they’re doing, working around the obstruction like a stream flowing around a rock – they can function more efficiently without him peering over their shoulders and shirking his own duties. So he resigns himself to his office, where an ocean of messages and paperwork from materials suppliers, customers, and accountants await him. Far more mundane and abstract, and he chews through it without paying much attention at all.

His watch is ticking its way past 5:40 by the time he rises from his desk, rubs his eyes, and grabs the coat slung over the back of his chair. Hopefully, Taako isn't waiting up for him - given the absence of any obnoxious texts, Kravitz guesses he probably isn't. Not that he expects anything else, of course. Taako’s hectic life keeps him on his toes as much as Kravitz’s own does. So he doesn’t quite understand the twinge of something similar to disappointment in his chest, but he just bundles up and rushes out to drive to the Starblaster.

Magnus winks at him and waves him on through without a word when he arrives. By now, navigating through the club is old hat to Kravitz, who winds his way around the perimeter toward the door to backstage. They haven’t been open long, the first handful of customers settled into the tables closest to the stage for the best views, and the stage is currently empty. No one else pays Kravitz any mind as he makes his way, either; the bartender – Taako’s other housemate Merle, Taako has informed him – gives him a nod as he passes by. His presence in the club has become inconspicuous, expected even. He can count on one hand how many places he’s felt he belonged, and this wild world so disparate from his own is one of the last places he would have expected to find himself frequenting.

The door to Taako’s dressing room is already open, and Taako must have heard his footsteps approaching. He meets Kravitz at the door. “Come on in.” He sweeps his arm into the dressing room before traipsing over to a small table near his vanity, which has historically been an overflow for jewelry, makeup tubes, and perfume bottles. All that has been swept away or set aside for a clear place to set his new notebook, where he has drawn and stored his designs over the past several weeks. Kravitz has a feeling that he’s been given access to only a fraction of the boots in Taako’s book.

Taako scoops up the book and flips it open a little past the middle, a couple loose pages that have been tucked inside nearly escaping as he does. “All right, feast your eyes.”

His previous designs don’t hold a candle to the boots sprawling over the two pages in terms of intricacy. One, knee-length with a stiletto heel, has flowers crawling up the sides – a tiny note next to them muses “real roses?” before being scratched out. Even Taako’s outrageous taste of fashion has some limits for practicality. The rest are equally unreasonable and ornate. Kravitz bites the inside of his cheek. Even without the broken sewing machine, he can’t imagine how he’s supposed to put these creations together in the limited time they have.

Some hint of his thoughts must show on his face, because Taako asks, “Problem?”

Kravitz sighs, hands the notebook back to him. “This isn’t about you showing off, Taako. This is about making shoes that a lot of people are going to want to wear. Can you tone a few of these down a little?”

Taako trains a sharp look at him, then laughs. “Right. And here I thought it was about making shit that people like me can’t get. Real selfish of me. My bad.”

An accusation lurks underneath his words, and while Kravitz doesn’t know exactly the shape of it, he bristles against it. “I’m trying to keep this company from going under, Taako, is that selfish? People would lose their jobs, everything Raven’s family - my family - has built would be gone--”

“Yeah, I know, you’re a real saint. Look, I’ll redo them, okay? It’s all good.” He tucks the book under his arm and flashes a smile that could cut glass. “I’m at your beck and call.”

Kravitz stares. “You wanted to do this! We’re business partners!”

“Is that what we are now?” Taako turns his back to Kravitz to slap the designs back down onto his side table. “It changes so much I can’t keep track anymore.”

“You said you were fine doing things this way, if that’s not the case…” Kravitz swallows, the end of his sentence dangling unformed but threatening between them regardless. Taako faces him again, slowly, crossing his arms over his chest. “Taako, please. I just want to get through this party, can we talk about us after?”

Taako straightens up and rolls his shoulders. Kravitz hasn’t noticed the wall building between them until Taako’s eyes are already calm and distant. “Yeah, no problem, my dude.” He smiles, the expression startlingly close to genuine. “I’ll change ‘em.”

“Thank you.” Still reeling from the abrupt change of pace to their disagreement, Kravitz doesn’t know what else to say. This is what he’d wanted, after all, but in the same split second it took for Taako’s resistance to vanish, he can’t help but feel there’s something left unsaid.

He doesn’t have time to dwell on it. He says a stiff good-bye and walks in long, hurried strides down the hall to the back door. They can, as he said, deal with it when they have less on their collective plate. Besides, the heated exchange still prickles at the back of his skull as he leaves Taako to work. How can he be faulted for prioritizing the livelihoods of dozens of people? They rely on him, and Raven expects him to succeed. Taako knows that, just like he knows publicizing their relationship could jeopardize both of them. Once he calms down and thinks it through, he will have to come to terms with that. Kravitz will just give him time and space to get there.

He won’t admit to himself that he lost his temper too. A taunting little voice points out he could have told Taako about the sewing machine, about his fears with Raven, about everything that drags at him like weights around his neck. But would it have really made any difference? Taako would still have to redo the designs. The frustration he’d expressed about their situation would have continued to stew under the surface for however long it had been stewing. He puts his head down and goes before anyone he might know sees him leaving. He can’t face any of Taako’s friends or family right now.

In an hour, while Kravitz sits at the bar of the Davy Lamp nursing a glass of cheap wine and silently rehearsing his pitch to Raven, he receives an email from Taako. It contains photos of three designs, the lines and colors bold but the adornment minimal, exactly what Kravitz needs.

The email contains nothing else – no emoticons, no dry remarks about what Kravitz owes him. He reaches for his glass and takes a long drink. So this is how it’s going to be. He tucks his phone into his pocket without responding and gestures for Ren to bring him another round.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A short one this time!
> 
> The next chapter will likely be the last, but I might also do an epilogue or perhaps some one-shots. Which would people prefer?

The airport bustles with bodies, though the high glass ceilings and expansive hallways make everything feel small and insignificant. They are all but ants milling about, their individual purposes unknowable and meaningless. Kravitz finds some comfort in the anonymity, the indifference of everyone flowing around him without a second glance. He stands a few paces away from the flow of the arrivals gate, out of the way as he scans the figures herded through the pathway toward the exits.

Raven is easy to spot coming. She stands half a foot over everyone nearby, full figured, her hair gathered behind her head and giving her another several inches of height. Her high-waisted skirt flows around her legs, a light, feathery material that flutters around her long strides. She catches sight of Kravitz just a second after he sees her, and she raises one arm with a bright smile. Laugh lines punctuate her expression, a life fully lived impressed into her skin rather than the weariness of age.

“It’s good to see you, Kravitz.” She wraps her arms around him and envelopes him in a warm, vanilla-scented hug. “Thank you for picking me up, I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

He gives her a squeeze before they loosen their embrace and follow the hanging signs toward a series of luggage carousels. “No problem. How was the cruise?” She regales him with stories as they pick up her bags and walk back to the hearse. He is content with the familiarity of their routine – her talking, him listening attentively. It settles his nerves, which have been so frayed and harrowed of late, to know that some things haven’t changed.

She sighs, leaning back against the headrest of her seat and closing her eyes as soon as she gets seated. “What kind of vacation do you think you’ll take someday?”

Kravitz laughs as the engine rolls over. “I don’t think I’m much of the vacationing type. I wouldn’t know what to do with myself.”

“Well, you don’t have to take a cruise or go traveling. Just do something for yourself, relax a little.” He snorts, but upon glancing at her face, he realizes she looks serious, almost somber, her brow pointedly raised at him as she waits for him to tell her he’ll take her words to heart.

What can he do in the face of her expectations? “I’ll think about it,” he compromises.

A frown tugs at the corner of her lips but she nods, declares, “Good,” and sits back again. They both understand that he probably won’t, that he will let the promise go unfulfilled, but they’ve spoken their peace.

Raven simply can’t understand how hard he must work to rise to her legacy. The management of business doesn’t come naturally to him as it always did for her, he doesn’t have the mind for making connections and reading between lines and determining the correct course of action the way she does. He’s always been better behind the scenes, when the spotlight is on someone else and he can operate in the shadows. Even a conductor has sheet music in front of him, a guide to follow so he can ensure he’s taking his orchestra along the right path, but there is no sheet music for this job. All he has is the grand masterpiece that had been performed before him playing in his head, but nothing on how it was done or how to recreate it.

“—this new designer of yours. Kravitz?” The sound of his name drags him back out of his thoughts.

“What’s that?”

Raven repeats, “Tell me about how you found your new designer.”

Kravitz wets his lips and stares at the bumper of the car ahead of them as they crawl along out of the airport grounds. “I met him by accident. I was walking home when I heard yelling, and when I went to find out what was going on, I saw him being harassed by a couple assholes. I tried to help break it up, but he had himself pretty well taken care of.” The image of Taako brandishing an umbrella, leopard print coat flaring around him, will never fade in his memory. He has always been tougher than Kravitz in a multitude of ways; he’s a survivor, he’ll do whatever it takes to keep himself on his feet, and Kravitz can’t imagine he’ll ever fail. “I pretty much just ended up embarrassing myself,” he added with a short laugh. But Taako had liked him anyway. Talked to him, befriended him, gave Kravitz his number. Looking back on it, he couldn’t make heads or tails of why.

Raven watches his face, smiling at him. “Can I see his work?”

That kind of question only has one answer. “Of course. We’ve been working on them at the factory, you can come take a look tomorrow if you want. And…” She was going to catch wind of it anyway, somehow or another. He swallows. “And we’re having a bit of a mixer to show off the new products. Taako – the designer – has connections with the local club scene, so we’re focusing on people in those businesses.”

“Oh-ho, that’s a change of pace. I like it. When’s this mixer?” Raven looks pleased, maybe even excited, and Kravitz’s stomach churns. It’s not that he doesn’t want her to be there – he does. He wants, desperately, for her to approve of the work he’s been doing, but the only way for that to happen is to risk receiving disappointment instead.

“Tonight actually. It’s at 8, at a club called the Starblaster. Do you think you’d be able to make it?”

She blows out a breath. “Well, I’ll have to take a nap, then. I’ve already been up for six hours. But of course I’ll be there, I wouldn’t miss it.”

Kravitz nods and smiles despite his nerves. Soon enough they arrive at her house, where he helps her get her luggage in before she sends him off so she can unpack and, more than likely, crash in bed for a few hours. He has to get to the club, to make sure they are on track for getting set up and taking care of any last-minute wrinkles that he needs to iron out. He knows he’ll see Taako there, but he pushes it out of his mind as much as he can. They will be busy, anyway, and surrounded by other people. They won’t have the time or the privacy to confront whatever it is that has exploded between them.

But the very notion of a confrontation terrifies him. They are in a stalemate right now, a no man’s land, and Kravitz can at least get by in that kind of ambiguity. As soon as it comes to a head there’s no telling what will happen. They’ve seen each other since they fought, of course, and even held conversations, but they were stiff with forced professionalism and stilted with buried frustrations, and they cut it as short as possible, Taako barbing him with snipped comments before making his exit.

He longs to go back to the morning after their first night spent together, carefree and sheltered. The rest of the world felt miles away that morning, and they were safe to indulge in each other without worrying about risky business ventures or secrecy or pressure. It was just the two of them, relishing in finding someone else to understand and forgive each other’s quirks.

Kravitz parks and climbs out of the car. The Starblaster looks no different in the broad daylight of late morning, but he can’t help but feel the drawn windows and darkened signs stare at him with a cold disdain today. He hunches his shoulders in his coat, digs a big suitcase out of the back of the hearse, and steps up to the door to knock.

Lucretia opens the door for him. “Good morning,” she greets, stepping aside to let him in. The house lights are on as bright as they can be, people he mostly recognizes bustling to and fro to arrange the space. All the tables and most of the chairs have already been stowed away out of sight; most people will be milling about, socializing amongst each other and, hopefully, admiring the displays of shoes that will be set out all around the club.

“Here are most of the shoes,” he says, gesturing to the suitcase. “Killian will be bringing the rest of them in an hour or two.”

Lucretia nods. “Good. You can just leave them over by the bar, we’ll need them soon enough.” She turns away from him, going back to supervising the setup, and Kravitz drags the suitcase to the bar as directed. He leaves it pressed between a couple stools, as out of the way as he can make it. A bottle of vodka props the kitchen door open, and he can see a small team inside preparing hors d’oeuvres. He starts to creep out of view of the door, but before he can make his escape he hears his name shouted from within the kitchen. He sighs and turns to face Lup.

She wears a black tee and black pants underneath a stained apron, her hair pulled up into a tight ponytail. He half-expects her to chew him out, but the creases in her brow speak of concern, not anger. “Yo, how are things, Grim?”

“Fine.” He shrugs and gestures to the preparation happening around them. “Setup is going about as smoothly as can be expected, and we’ve had a solid number of RSVPs—”

“You know that’s not what I mean. Come with me.” She spins around and marches back into the kitchen. If he was feeling particularly brash, he would just make a break for the door. With a sigh, he follows behind her.

She only has a handful of people in her kitchen, but in addition to all the industrial-sized equipment and stainless steel counters, the area is packed and noisy. Lup ducks and weaves through the chaos with practiced ease; Kravitz lags behind, nearly knocking into someone carrying a hot tray and stammering apologies as he tries to keep up. Maybe this is part of the sibling retribution he’d been expecting, an agonizing torment of humiliation.

At the opposite end of the kitchen, she beckons him into a narrow pantry, and with a wrinkle of his nose he steps inside. He hugs his arms to his sides as he turns around, as Lup enters behind him and shuts the door. “Do we have to do this in here?” he complains.

Lup shrugs. “If you want to try to find another quiet, private place to talk in this club, be my guest.” He sighs and resigns himself to that, even though he’s pretty sure she smirks a little as she says it. She sobers again quickly. “You want to tell me what’s going on with you and Taako?”

He pinches the bridge of his nose. “It’s just a spat. I’m working on it.”

“Are you? Because my brother doesn’t get hung up on boys, ever, but for the last few days he’s been a nightmare.” She folds her arms over her chest, tilting her head to peer up at him with a narrow-eyed gaze. “You make him happy. I would’ve known it even if he hadn’t told me. If neither of you want to clue me in on what’s up, that’s fine, but can you just do me a favor and clear it up sooner rather than later?”

Calm holds her voice steady. She isn’t angry; she sounds almost like she’s pleading with him, even. Kravitz bites the inside of his lip. “I sort of thought you’d be yelling at me by this point,” he admits with a nervous laugh. Yelling would be easier to deal with; he could match anger with anger easily enough. But what’s he supposed to do with heartfelt pleas from Taako’s terrifying sister?

She chuckles. “I mean, I could beat you up if that’s what you want, for sure. I could use the stress relief.” Kravitz swallows. “But nah.” She inhales deeply and scuffs her foot against the concrete floor, casting her gaze to the side. “We’re his family, you know, all of us, and everyone’s worried. We care a lot about him. And I know you care about him too. So we’ve got that in common. Just think about that, okay?”

“Yeah.” He doesn’t have any other words, disarmed even of those.

Lup looks him over, then lightly cuffs the side of his head before he can defend himself. “Don’t you get all mopey too. What are people going to think if we come out of here and you look like I kicked your puppy or something?”

Kravitz scowls and rubs his temple. “I don’t know, what are they going to think about you dragging me in here in the first place?”

She just laughs in a way eerily similar to Taako’s laughter and pushes the pantry door open, striding off to the center of the kitchen’s bustle. Apparently, she is done with him. He slinks back out of the kitchen, avoiding eye contact with everyone he has to pass before he can escape out the front door and back to his car. Lup is right about one thing; he cares about Taako, quite a bit. But that alone isn’t enough. That much is already clear.

What does she expect him to do? What _can_ he do? He could simply cut things off – maybe there was never a chance it would work out from the beginning. But the very thought awakens an ache deep in his ribs.

His regrets often lurk in recesses, waiting for when he doesn’t keep enough to occupy him and lunge for his throat when he is weakest, and they multiply all too quickly. He has let so many relationships and hobbies fall out of his life because caution held him back or because work stole his attention. He isn’t even sure he knows another way to be anymore, and maybe Taako would be just another drop in the bucket of his foregone opportunities. Maybe he could convince himself that he would forget Taako eventually.

But he’s not ready to let Taako go, to abandon the still budding whatever-it-is between them.

His family is worried, Lup told him. They don’t understand what’s happening, of course, but they know something isn’t right, so they worry. He’d gotten lucky when Lup didn’t rise up in Taako’s defense with all the fury of a protective sibling, but the rest of his family might not be so generous and sympathetic if they learn of the nature of Kravitz and Taako’s relationship and that Kravitz is the cause of Taako’s recent mood. Anxiety clutches a cold grip around his lungs. He doesn’t know what will happen, he can’t know.

He does know how happy Taako makes him, though. He knows how desperately he misses seeing Taako’s wry smile and teasing catty remarks out of him. Maybe everything will crumble around him, but that may not be a fate worse than the one he’s facing now.

He’s let fear guide his path for so long, it nips at his heels with every step he takes. But he can’t keep going along with it like this, not if he wants even a chance at staying by Taako’s side. He has to do something. He has to prove that he won’t let the opinions or judgments of strangers control his life, not only to Taako but to himself.

Kravitz inhales. He’s long since arrived at his apartment, sitting alone in a parked hearse as his brain rattles with thoughts and worries. He’s fucked things up well enough, worrying any more isn’t going to help him any. What he needs to focus on is solutions. He climbs out of his car and heads inside to catch a few hours of solitude, his only chance at coming up with something before he has to see Taako again that evening. He’s got to have something by then.

Everything else – Lup, Raven, the party, the business – doesn’t matter for the next two or three hours. He’s ready to focus on Taako and Taako alone. If he doesn’t, he might not be able to build the courage to do something about it again. And by then, it might be too late anyway.

**Author's Note:**

> as always, thank you for reading!!  
> find me on twitter: [geckosnack](https://twitter.com/geckosnack)


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